The Toad has yet another job. I'm trying hard to be positive, but I have no faith in him on this. It's sad to say, but it's the truth, and I'm not the kind of person (or mother) to put a happy face on something just because it will make others feel better about my relationship with my son, or my skill/competence as a mother.
We also got a nice shocker today.
Kevin opened the cable bill, and yet again, we got whammied with $72 in charges that we had no idea what they were. Of course, the back of the bill itemized it all, and I must say, that "All Sex Soccermoms" and "Asian Delight 7pac" certainly sound like they'd be worth $11.99 a piece.
So far, his porn fetish has cost ME upwards of $300, and can I take a moment to just say, "WOW." All this porn in my house, and I'm not enjoying one lick of it.
Kevin informed him that the $71.94 would be paid to him by the time he paid the bill--this Friday. Toadwort had to call his grandmother and ask her to lend him the money. Of course, she wanted to know why...and why his mother couldn't lend it to him.We made sure we were listening, and he explained that he hadn't yet fully paid back the previous $267.50, and "it's the principle of the thing."
Kevin was worried that it was going to come 'round and bite us in the ass. I'm fed up with this whole life the boy is living, and I assured Kevin, in no uncertain terms, I was putting a muzzle on the dog and it was NOT going to bite anyone--except perhaps the smelly beast it's been feeding behind our backs.
My mother called us back about 20 minutes later. She was fine about it--as far as she goes, anyway. She was curious as to how the Toad managed to find a way 'round the block we put up. (He discovered that Virtual Adult channels are not blocked. Lucky us! We found out so cheaply!)
Anyway, Grammy is going to cover his ass--and I'll be waiting with baited breath to see if she really does bust his chops for the money to be repaid.
He's a smart boy--he just don't have the common sense God gave a stick.
We'll also be gone for at least 4 days between Christmas and New Years--you can bet your ass the cable will be unhooked and he won't have access to anything, not even PBS. If he wants porn, he's gonna have to go Blockbuster, and they make you pay up front.
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Monday, November 26, 2007
Carbon Copies
Reading Scribbit's blog this morning, got me to remembering some *twin* weirdness in my own life.
Before I begin my story, let me say, there's no way a rational person would think that Scribbit is that old--it must be the kid had a dolt gene mutation, to go along with the weirdness gene he's obviously got going on.
Now, on with the show:
Somewhere in my hometown (where, God help me, I still live) there's a woman/girl named Becky whom I resemble. Or maybe she resembles me. I don't know which way that works, but I know we look alike, and, at one point, drove similar enough looking cars that even my own mother was confused.
My mom, those years ago when I was working at the local paper in the advertising, would occasionally call me up in the evening and demand to know what I was doing that day. I'd tell her I was at work, and usually relate some silly thing that happened. She would counter with an accusation that I called off (or scheduled a day off) and I was someplace else I "wasn't supposed to be."
My mother would tell me she saw me, driving through town, and she KNEW it was me.
She refused to believe me throughout the '90's, because she *knew* what she *knew*. It was ridiculous and I had no way of proving where I wasn't, without looking like an idiot with a control freak mother.
So, I took it all with a grain of salt and let it ride.
Then, in 2000, I was working at the big blue box o' home improvements, and my mother calls me to apologize for that decade of disbelieving me.
My grandmother called and accused my mother of having lied about where I currently worked. It seems that, aside from the whole-women-in-my-family-are-insane thing, my grandmother's brother saw *me* at the grocery store in the same plaza where I work. He was insistant that it was me, and since his eyesight isn't that great, he couldn't read the name tag. It certainly helped his case that the girl was pleasant and friendly, and chatted with him as if she knew him. (Oh, that would have been a clue for anyone who actually knows me! lol)
Grandma and Uncle had quite an arguement! And grandma was calling my mother to make it HER fault. Sweet Jesus! Save me from the insanity--weirdness, which this also qualifies as, I can deal with, but insanity, I can't!
So, confirmation that I have a twin in town, and an apology from my mother.
Flash forward a few years, and having older men ask me if I am Becky, or if I know Becky. Am I sure I don't have a sister Becky? Where is Becky working now? Blah blah blah. One guy just couldn't wrap his head around it, and spent 20 minutes testing me to see if I was Becky, but just joking with him. *roll eyes*
I think this helps prove beyond weirdness magnet.
I also want to add, in the mistaken identity column of events, I once had a woman ask me if I was an *insert mother's maiden name here*. It's not a common last name, and it's usually mispronounced. In all honesty, the only person in this town with that last name currently that I've ever found is my grandmother. (Of course, my mother nor her sister have used it since they got married.) This woman pronounced it correctly, so I have to assume she knew my mother, or my aunt.
The woman admitted to knowing my mother when she was a preteen/teenager, and that I would then be "way to young then, to be her".
God help me, I'm turning into my mother. (Needless to say, my mother was happy, I was not.)
Before I begin my story, let me say, there's no way a rational person would think that Scribbit is that old--it must be the kid had a dolt gene mutation, to go along with the weirdness gene he's obviously got going on.
Now, on with the show:
Somewhere in my hometown (where, God help me, I still live) there's a woman/girl named Becky whom I resemble. Or maybe she resembles me. I don't know which way that works, but I know we look alike, and, at one point, drove similar enough looking cars that even my own mother was confused.
My mom, those years ago when I was working at the local paper in the advertising, would occasionally call me up in the evening and demand to know what I was doing that day. I'd tell her I was at work, and usually relate some silly thing that happened. She would counter with an accusation that I called off (or scheduled a day off) and I was someplace else I "wasn't supposed to be."
My mother would tell me she saw me, driving through town, and she KNEW it was me.
She refused to believe me throughout the '90's, because she *knew* what she *knew*. It was ridiculous and I had no way of proving where I wasn't, without looking like an idiot with a control freak mother.
So, I took it all with a grain of salt and let it ride.
Then, in 2000, I was working at the big blue box o' home improvements, and my mother calls me to apologize for that decade of disbelieving me.
My grandmother called and accused my mother of having lied about where I currently worked. It seems that, aside from the whole-women-in-my-family-are-insane thing, my grandmother's brother saw *me* at the grocery store in the same plaza where I work. He was insistant that it was me, and since his eyesight isn't that great, he couldn't read the name tag. It certainly helped his case that the girl was pleasant and friendly, and chatted with him as if she knew him. (Oh, that would have been a clue for anyone who actually knows me! lol)
Grandma and Uncle had quite an arguement! And grandma was calling my mother to make it HER fault. Sweet Jesus! Save me from the insanity--weirdness, which this also qualifies as, I can deal with, but insanity, I can't!
So, confirmation that I have a twin in town, and an apology from my mother.
Flash forward a few years, and having older men ask me if I am Becky, or if I know Becky. Am I sure I don't have a sister Becky? Where is Becky working now? Blah blah blah. One guy just couldn't wrap his head around it, and spent 20 minutes testing me to see if I was Becky, but just joking with him. *roll eyes*
I think this helps prove beyond weirdness magnet.
I also want to add, in the mistaken identity column of events, I once had a woman ask me if I was an *insert mother's maiden name here*. It's not a common last name, and it's usually mispronounced. In all honesty, the only person in this town with that last name currently that I've ever found is my grandmother. (Of course, my mother nor her sister have used it since they got married.) This woman pronounced it correctly, so I have to assume she knew my mother, or my aunt.
The woman admitted to knowing my mother when she was a preteen/teenager, and that I would then be "way to young then, to be her".
God help me, I'm turning into my mother. (Needless to say, my mother was happy, I was not.)
Thursday, November 22, 2007
Bird Stuffed
and in oven. Smells good.
The stuffing, at the very least, should be interesting. My mom's recipe uses one or two eggs (depending on whether you're making a *batch* or a *mountain*) and MIL's doesn't.
My Sweetie and I had this conversation:
Sweetie: Whatcha doin?
Mumple: Getting eggs out to make the stuffing.
S: There are no eggs in stuffing.
M: Yes, there is.
S: Nyuh uh.
M: Anh huh.
S: Nyuh uh.
M: Anh huh.
S: Nyuh uh.
M: Anh huh.
S: Nyuh uh.
M: Anh huh.
S: Nyuh uh.
M: Anh huh.
S: Nyuh uh.
M: Anh huh. I'll call my mother.
S: Whose stuffing is better?
M: I'll call your mother.
So, call MIL I did.
Don't get me wrong--I love stuffing, and I love my mother's stuffing. BUT in a few cases, I have to concede that MIL's recipes are better than my mother's (or mine, for that matter). And neither my mother or I are slouches when it comes to cooking.
So, turkey will be served at 3pm. Pie at 3:05pm.
The stuffing, at the very least, should be interesting. My mom's recipe uses one or two eggs (depending on whether you're making a *batch* or a *mountain*) and MIL's doesn't.
My Sweetie and I had this conversation:
Sweetie: Whatcha doin?
Mumple: Getting eggs out to make the stuffing.
S: There are no eggs in stuffing.
M: Yes, there is.
S: Nyuh uh.
M: Anh huh.
S: Nyuh uh.
M: Anh huh.
S: Nyuh uh.
M: Anh huh.
S: Nyuh uh.
M: Anh huh.
S: Nyuh uh.
M: Anh huh.
S: Nyuh uh.
M: Anh huh.
S: Whose stuffing is better?
M: I'll call your mother.
So, call MIL I did.
Don't get me wrong--I love stuffing, and I love my mother's stuffing. BUT in a few cases, I have to concede that MIL's recipes are better than my mother's (or mine, for that matter). And neither my mother or I are slouches when it comes to cooking.
So, turkey will be served at 3pm. Pie at 3:05pm.
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
I Thought I Had It Bad...
Kevin is now yelling at the television.
J C Penney is open at 4am for the Black Friday sales.
I find it ridiculous too, but I usually try to say it without the F bomb.
Now, he's trying to convince me we need to get up at 3am to go Christmas shopping at 4. lol.
I now know how he feels when, in the checkout line at the grocery store, I pick up the latest issue of People magazine and say something like, "Hey! Honey! LOOK! Britney and Paris are drinking all night again!" (or, most recently, Matt Damon on the cover of US, I think, and "Honey! LOOK! Someone as ugly as Brad Pitt is the Sexiest Man Alive! I feel better knowing that, don't you?")
J C Penney is open at 4am for the Black Friday sales.
I find it ridiculous too, but I usually try to say it without the F bomb.
Now, he's trying to convince me we need to get up at 3am to go Christmas shopping at 4. lol.
I now know how he feels when, in the checkout line at the grocery store, I pick up the latest issue of People magazine and say something like, "Hey! Honey! LOOK! Britney and Paris are drinking all night again!" (or, most recently, Matt Damon on the cover of US, I think, and "Honey! LOOK! Someone as ugly as Brad Pitt is the Sexiest Man Alive! I feel better knowing that, don't you?")
More HR Mom Rant
I wrote a letter and decorated it (via my word program) to *my* parents.
I did not write:
Hey, People!
I went to a PTA meeting, and have discovered that I am invisible. I'd really like it if you all could come to the next one with me and help me find out if it's really true. The people I work with say it's not, as does my family. Let's find out! Worst case scenario, we discover that we all have this amazing power. How cool would that be?
Also, these PTA people need volunteers in our children's classroom on December 17 to help the kids with a craft. I'm not crafty myself, so instead, I'll be at work, schlepping trees for rude Christmas shoppers. If you are crafty, this is a healthy way for you to earn some good karma from the parenting gods. Call *A* at 555-7668 to volunteer. Leave me out of the loop on this one, if you can.
Finally, the classroom party is on December 21. I clarify that it's a classroom party, because the fuckwits at PTA didn't have a clue what I was talking about (I seriously think they thought I was desperate to know when their PTAer-Than-Thou-Self-Congratulatory Christmas Party was--as if I'd want an invite, much less expect one.) Anyway, yet again, I need bodies and booty to be there. It's to be from 1pm-2pm, then early dismissal. Let's sugar them up and send them home! lol.
I need to hear from you all, especially those of you who forgot to include your telephone information on the classroom list. You know who you are. If I don't hear from you soon, I'll have to chalk it up to sheer stubborness, and I know who will be the Homeroom Parent next year. I'll be sure to give 'em your name when they ask.
mumple
555-3825
(Hah! Do the *math* on those numbers!)
Now, today, the chicklet in charge of the craftiness sent home a letter addressed to all the HR Moms. Lovely.
In said letter, she says that I am to contact my parents, co ordinate with her by the 29th of this month, and have volunteers in place and ready to go.
As if, any one in their right mind* wants to do this shit the day before Thanksgiving. WTF would I do if we were leaving town for the 4-5 days we have off? We'd all be grabbing our ankles, that's what.
*of course, the "right mind" part of that first question is debatable in my case, but that's not my point.
I did not write:
Hey, People!
I went to a PTA meeting, and have discovered that I am invisible. I'd really like it if you all could come to the next one with me and help me find out if it's really true. The people I work with say it's not, as does my family. Let's find out! Worst case scenario, we discover that we all have this amazing power. How cool would that be?
Also, these PTA people need volunteers in our children's classroom on December 17 to help the kids with a craft. I'm not crafty myself, so instead, I'll be at work, schlepping trees for rude Christmas shoppers. If you are crafty, this is a healthy way for you to earn some good karma from the parenting gods. Call *A* at 555-7668 to volunteer. Leave me out of the loop on this one, if you can.
Finally, the classroom party is on December 21. I clarify that it's a classroom party, because the fuckwits at PTA didn't have a clue what I was talking about (I seriously think they thought I was desperate to know when their PTAer-Than-Thou-Self-Congratulatory Christmas Party was--as if I'd want an invite, much less expect one.) Anyway, yet again, I need bodies and booty to be there. It's to be from 1pm-2pm, then early dismissal. Let's sugar them up and send them home! lol.
I need to hear from you all, especially those of you who forgot to include your telephone information on the classroom list. You know who you are. If I don't hear from you soon, I'll have to chalk it up to sheer stubborness, and I know who will be the Homeroom Parent next year. I'll be sure to give 'em your name when they ask.
mumple
555-3825
(Hah! Do the *math* on those numbers!)
Now, today, the chicklet in charge of the craftiness sent home a letter addressed to all the HR Moms. Lovely.
In said letter, she says that I am to contact my parents, co ordinate with her by the 29th of this month, and have volunteers in place and ready to go.
As if, any one in their right mind* wants to do this shit the day before Thanksgiving. WTF would I do if we were leaving town for the 4-5 days we have off? We'd all be grabbing our ankles, that's what.
*of course, the "right mind" part of that first question is debatable in my case, but that's not my point.
Sunday, November 18, 2007
Where's My Sharp Stick?
I am, as my Sweetie says, the "Queen of Pull-It-Ouch-Yer-Ass", and yet, sometimes, that just doesn't work.
I had a few things I needed to type up and have ready for church tomorrow (today? lol).
I put it off because I am lazy. I put it off because I am a procrastinator. I put it off because I am a glutton for punishment, and, Karma not withstanding, I like pain and humiliation.
Actually, I put it off because I just don't like doing it--and I'm lazy. My PIOYA skills have rarely failed me, and yet, I should have known I was due.
For some reason, I cannot print the last page I desperately need. I have 2 other things I need for tomorrow, but I can, if necessary, skate by on them and get them there later. Not good, but not exactly bad, either.
My Karma caught up with me.
My printer is not working. It says it has a communications error.
I'll be dammed before I start trying to pull things apart and start reconnecting them at 1:12am on Sunday morning.
I'm a glutton for punishment, but I'm not sick.
So what do I do instead? I come here to whine about it--mostly because no one else will listen to me whine (mostly because I don't listen to them whine, but really, how fair an attitude is that?)
I will go to church tomorrow AM, and hope for the best. Then, when we get home, I will find my sharp stick, and poke myself in the eye.
I had a few things I needed to type up and have ready for church tomorrow (today? lol).
I put it off because I am lazy. I put it off because I am a procrastinator. I put it off because I am a glutton for punishment, and, Karma not withstanding, I like pain and humiliation.
Actually, I put it off because I just don't like doing it--and I'm lazy. My PIOYA skills have rarely failed me, and yet, I should have known I was due.
For some reason, I cannot print the last page I desperately need. I have 2 other things I need for tomorrow, but I can, if necessary, skate by on them and get them there later. Not good, but not exactly bad, either.
My Karma caught up with me.
My printer is not working. It says it has a communications error.
I'll be dammed before I start trying to pull things apart and start reconnecting them at 1:12am on Sunday morning.
I'm a glutton for punishment, but I'm not sick.
So what do I do instead? I come here to whine about it--mostly because no one else will listen to me whine (mostly because I don't listen to them whine, but really, how fair an attitude is that?)
I will go to church tomorrow AM, and hope for the best. Then, when we get home, I will find my sharp stick, and poke myself in the eye.
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Where's the Line?
Where is the line between customer and employee?
I believe I know where it is...and it all comes down to the ugly red vest.
If a body is wearing the ugly red vest (unlike bowling shirts, I see them as NEVER attaining any sort of punk/alternative fashion statement) then, and only during the time the vest is on the body, is that body to be considered an employee, co-worker, or associate. It's not a test, and yet it is.
There are people who fail this test. And it makes me wonder how often they fail the customer service test. Is there a hierarchy of service that is offered in degrees to people they judge to be in certain categories?
These are legitimate questions.
If at any given moment, a person is NOT wearing the ugly vest, but currently has the priviledge of looking that ugly for any number of hours in any given week, are they subject, if spending money, to a different standard than someone who has never worn that ugly vest, or who has managed to escape serfdom to the vest?
I think not.
People, when you're working retail, are to be classified into two categories: those who are currently wearing the uglies, and those who are not. Those who wearing the uglies are obligated to those who are not (regardless of vest priviledges) to provide consistant and fair customer service.
If someone with vest privileges is not currently on the clock and is in spending their money (or needing to get their money back) they should not be treated with LESS courtesy or shown LESS customer service than any other "joe off the street".
Period.
It makes me wonder, when this sort of thing happens, how do these co-workers REALLY treat the customers they come in contact with?
It probably wouldn't bother me so much, if this particular co-worker hadn't, in the past, tried to "give me hell" for this sort of thing. He gave me hell once (cornered me actually) about a customer whom I was unable to satisfy given the policies and my position. He will probably corner me again sometime next week about this.
Yes, I went over his head. I bought something, discovered it was broken, and given my "insider knowledge" it would have made it a logistical mess--not only do I not want to go through that myself, I don't want to drag anyone else through it either.
The wrong answer is "Then you can't bring it back until tomorrow."
So, naturally, I go to the guy who is going to help me find a solution to my problem. And he did. If that steps on Associate *A*'s toes, too bad. I suppose it makes me a bitch (or worse).
If I were a *real* customer, I'd have been dialing toll-free customer service lines complaining.
Again, I ask: What does he treat *real* customers like?
I believe I know where it is...and it all comes down to the ugly red vest.
If a body is wearing the ugly red vest (unlike bowling shirts, I see them as NEVER attaining any sort of punk/alternative fashion statement) then, and only during the time the vest is on the body, is that body to be considered an employee, co-worker, or associate. It's not a test, and yet it is.
There are people who fail this test. And it makes me wonder how often they fail the customer service test. Is there a hierarchy of service that is offered in degrees to people they judge to be in certain categories?
These are legitimate questions.
If at any given moment, a person is NOT wearing the ugly vest, but currently has the priviledge of looking that ugly for any number of hours in any given week, are they subject, if spending money, to a different standard than someone who has never worn that ugly vest, or who has managed to escape serfdom to the vest?
I think not.
People, when you're working retail, are to be classified into two categories: those who are currently wearing the uglies, and those who are not. Those who wearing the uglies are obligated to those who are not (regardless of vest priviledges) to provide consistant and fair customer service.
If someone with vest privileges is not currently on the clock and is in spending their money (or needing to get their money back) they should not be treated with LESS courtesy or shown LESS customer service than any other "joe off the street".
Period.
It makes me wonder, when this sort of thing happens, how do these co-workers REALLY treat the customers they come in contact with?
It probably wouldn't bother me so much, if this particular co-worker hadn't, in the past, tried to "give me hell" for this sort of thing. He gave me hell once (cornered me actually) about a customer whom I was unable to satisfy given the policies and my position. He will probably corner me again sometime next week about this.
Yes, I went over his head. I bought something, discovered it was broken, and given my "insider knowledge" it would have made it a logistical mess--not only do I not want to go through that myself, I don't want to drag anyone else through it either.
The wrong answer is "Then you can't bring it back until tomorrow."
So, naturally, I go to the guy who is going to help me find a solution to my problem. And he did. If that steps on Associate *A*'s toes, too bad. I suppose it makes me a bitch (or worse).
If I were a *real* customer, I'd have been dialing toll-free customer service lines complaining.
Again, I ask: What does he treat *real* customers like?
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
No, Really
I can't brag on myself about this at work or I would be vain.
But I can brag on myself here, because, well, it's mine, it's about me, and the title even says so. HAH!
Tonight, the LP (loss prevention for those who just joined us after the commercial break) told me that she "did something and I hope you're okay with it."
I'm like "hunh?" Now, there's nothing she can do that isn't going to be okay with me, mostly because while part of her job is to oversee mine, it's not like they're directly related.
She tells me that she's telling the new hires, that regardless of what ANYONE on the front end tells them about loss issues, they are to come to me, listen well, and do what I do on those issues. Basically (and I'm paraphrasing), I am the *go-to girl* when it comes to knowing policy, knowing what tricks shoplifters use and I catch 'em and get money for doing it.
Yeee HAW!
I'm delighted. It means that, hopefully, this new bunch will actually listen to me when I talk about those things--validating receipts, scanning everything, reading my screen....knowing our product. It's all basic (and really dorky) stuff--especially dorky the way it's presented! But, it works. And it's gotten me, so far this year, $90 extra bucks....not including the $120 that should be coming my way.
It also explains why they seemed to be nervous, but not frightened when I did tell them the little bit I managed to get out.
It also means that maybe that lazy hag will have to be retrained, and the dimbulb with her.
So, while it's bragging on myself, it does prove that I do earn what I get (I actually believe they should pay me more--my mere presence in the store deters the thieving bastards, but that's a rant, not a brag).
Coolness!
But I can brag on myself here, because, well, it's mine, it's about me, and the title even says so. HAH!
Tonight, the LP (loss prevention for those who just joined us after the commercial break) told me that she "did something and I hope you're okay with it."
I'm like "hunh?" Now, there's nothing she can do that isn't going to be okay with me, mostly because while part of her job is to oversee mine, it's not like they're directly related.
She tells me that she's telling the new hires, that regardless of what ANYONE on the front end tells them about loss issues, they are to come to me, listen well, and do what I do on those issues. Basically (and I'm paraphrasing), I am the *go-to girl* when it comes to knowing policy, knowing what tricks shoplifters use and I catch 'em and get money for doing it.
Yeee HAW!
I'm delighted. It means that, hopefully, this new bunch will actually listen to me when I talk about those things--validating receipts, scanning everything, reading my screen....knowing our product. It's all basic (and really dorky) stuff--especially dorky the way it's presented! But, it works. And it's gotten me, so far this year, $90 extra bucks....not including the $120 that should be coming my way.
It also explains why they seemed to be nervous, but not frightened when I did tell them the little bit I managed to get out.
It also means that maybe that lazy hag will have to be retrained, and the dimbulb with her.
So, while it's bragging on myself, it does prove that I do earn what I get (I actually believe they should pay me more--my mere presence in the store deters the thieving bastards, but that's a rant, not a brag).
Coolness!
What's That Squeaking Noise?
I spent last night after work wondering what that rattling noise was when I walked. I had nothing metal or plastic on my person (not even an underwire bra, TMI).
Whenever I walked, or moved my head, I could hear a faint chinking noise. No one around me could hear it--not even the cats, who usually get weirded out by things like that. It was annoying.
Finally, after my Sweetie went to bed, I realized that I had used one of the Howler's fancy hair ties to pull my hair up. It has these cute little hard plastic hearts on it, and now I realize why she doesn't like to wear them--the hearts clink against one another when you move.
Thank God! I thought something had come loose and really was rattling around inside my head.
Whenever I walked, or moved my head, I could hear a faint chinking noise. No one around me could hear it--not even the cats, who usually get weirded out by things like that. It was annoying.
Finally, after my Sweetie went to bed, I realized that I had used one of the Howler's fancy hair ties to pull my hair up. It has these cute little hard plastic hearts on it, and now I realize why she doesn't like to wear them--the hearts clink against one another when you move.
Thank God! I thought something had come loose and really was rattling around inside my head.
Monday, November 12, 2007
Give It Up
"With enough courage, you can do without a reputation." ~Rhett Butler, Gone with the Wind (movie)
Several years ago, I went through an emotionally painful time. I've blogged about it before, and it's not something I want to dwell on, but the lessons I learned from it continue to serve me well.
During that time, I gave up caring what others' thought of me. I quit giving credence to anyone else's perception of me. Certainly, if someone I respect points out something about me that is less-than-wonderful, I evaluate it. But it is ultimately MY judgement, and MY evaluation of who I am that I count on. I don't base my self-value on what anyone else tell me I am (or I am not).
In other words, I lost my repuation. I just couldn't maintain the level of energy it takes to be more worried about someone else's feelings, especially when that someone else isn't at all concerned about how he or she is treating you.
"He tried to tell me I was too angry, but that always struck me as being more about him than about me. ... And I think it threatens a lot of people when you are angry but even more so when you have a good reason for it." ~Janet Eldred
Yes, I was, and still am, angry about things like being treated as a woman--not that it's all bad, but mostly, it is. Being a woman seems to automatically devalue you. Your thoughts, your ideas, you opinions, even amongst learned, open minded people, are always, for them, colored by that fact that you have a uterus.
Other women see you as competition, or a threat--even if the only sin you've committed is that you continued to suck air in their world. Worse, men seem to, in general, find that sort of woman to be their ideal. If, as a woman, you don't play those womanly games (manipulation in my book), you are still judged by THAT standard anyway.
I have every reason to be angry about that. I've earned the anger--and the right to have it.
It was exhausting having to spend all my time trying to be someone I wasn't--just to have the approval of everyone around me. Whether I respected them or not, they had a claim on me. And I had to respond, appropriately, of course, in order to be given the least of approvals. I hated every minute of it.
And I dammed near offed myself for it. I admit it; I bought into the fairy tale--the one where your value is based on whether or not you managed to catch some poor schmuck unawares and convinced him to marry you. And you ensnared him enough to have gone through with it. How pathetic!
I quit the *girls team* and started one of my own--one where gender doesn't matter and competence and intelligence does.
My life is different because I choose to set my own standards and rules of engagement. I choose what I will be every day. I choose to not have my DNA and reproductive organs be the sum total of my value. I choose to not manipulate others; I choose to not be passive-aggressive. I choose to seek competition with those worthy of beating me--on fair and agreed upon terms. I rejoice in others' successes, and I encourage those I can, when I can find them.
My life is different because I choose to make it so. It wasn't fun, and I do not recommend it, but I can tell you that without the meltdown, there can be no spring.
More information on Scribbit's Write Away contest can be found here.
Several years ago, I went through an emotionally painful time. I've blogged about it before, and it's not something I want to dwell on, but the lessons I learned from it continue to serve me well.
During that time, I gave up caring what others' thought of me. I quit giving credence to anyone else's perception of me. Certainly, if someone I respect points out something about me that is less-than-wonderful, I evaluate it. But it is ultimately MY judgement, and MY evaluation of who I am that I count on. I don't base my self-value on what anyone else tell me I am (or I am not).
In other words, I lost my repuation. I just couldn't maintain the level of energy it takes to be more worried about someone else's feelings, especially when that someone else isn't at all concerned about how he or she is treating you.
"He tried to tell me I was too angry, but that always struck me as being more about him than about me. ... And I think it threatens a lot of people when you are angry but even more so when you have a good reason for it." ~Janet Eldred
Yes, I was, and still am, angry about things like being treated as a woman--not that it's all bad, but mostly, it is. Being a woman seems to automatically devalue you. Your thoughts, your ideas, you opinions, even amongst learned, open minded people, are always, for them, colored by that fact that you have a uterus.
Other women see you as competition, or a threat--even if the only sin you've committed is that you continued to suck air in their world. Worse, men seem to, in general, find that sort of woman to be their ideal. If, as a woman, you don't play those womanly games (manipulation in my book), you are still judged by THAT standard anyway.
I have every reason to be angry about that. I've earned the anger--and the right to have it.
It was exhausting having to spend all my time trying to be someone I wasn't--just to have the approval of everyone around me. Whether I respected them or not, they had a claim on me. And I had to respond, appropriately, of course, in order to be given the least of approvals. I hated every minute of it.
And I dammed near offed myself for it. I admit it; I bought into the fairy tale--the one where your value is based on whether or not you managed to catch some poor schmuck unawares and convinced him to marry you. And you ensnared him enough to have gone through with it. How pathetic!
I quit the *girls team* and started one of my own--one where gender doesn't matter and competence and intelligence does.
My life is different because I choose to set my own standards and rules of engagement. I choose what I will be every day. I choose to not have my DNA and reproductive organs be the sum total of my value. I choose to not manipulate others; I choose to not be passive-aggressive. I choose to seek competition with those worthy of beating me--on fair and agreed upon terms. I rejoice in others' successes, and I encourage those I can, when I can find them.
My life is different because I choose to make it so. It wasn't fun, and I do not recommend it, but I can tell you that without the meltdown, there can be no spring.
More information on Scribbit's Write Away contest can be found here.
Dammit!
More tagging. As if I'm this popular in the real world (okay, I am, but nobody in the RL wants to touch me).
Jen, of Lords of the Manor, touched me all over in a good way with this one:
The Crazy 8's of Mumpledom:
8 Things I'm Passionate About:
1. The Fam--my Sweetie, the Toad, the Howler
2. The number 11. I go to 11.
3. Stupidity in any form (I'm against it, btw)
4. Laughing
5. Reading
6. Sleeping
7. Breathing
8. OK, I'm out of ideas
8 Things I Say Often:
1. I love you
2. Back the f* up
3. Did I stutter?
4. Whose in charge here?
5. I don't make this stuff up
6. Do I look like a people person?
7. Would you like fries with that?
8. What? What?
8 Books I Have Read Recently:
1. The Lord of the Rings trilogy (again) JRR Tolkien
2. Job: A Comedy of Justice Robert A Heinlein
3. The Shining Steven King
4. The Gospel According to Sam William Miller
5. Wicked the Life & Times of the Wicked Witch of the West Gregory Maguire
6. Sula Toni Morrison
7. The Collectors David Balducci
8. Harry Potter and....yeppers, all 7 books, all in a row JK Rowling
8 Things I Want To Do Before I Die:
1. Understand the whole "people person" thing--how does one honestly do that?
2. Finish my BA in anything
3. See the Toad become a fully functional adult
4. See the Howler mellow
5. Write much, develop a cult following
6. Learn to play guitar
7. Stop smoking (although, technically, if I die and am not, at that moment, sucking on a death-stick, I've accomplished that)
8. Go to DisneyWorld with the Howler & Kevin
8 Songs I Can Listen To Over & Over
1. Learning to Fly Pink Floyd
2. Everybody Knows Don Henley
3. If I Had $1,000,000 Bare Naked Ladies
4. A Murder of One Counting Crows
5.Valentine Martina McBride
6. (entire album) Full Moon Fever Tom Petty
7. (entire album) Little Creatures Talking Heads
8. Gimme Three Steps Lynyrd Skynyrd
8 Things That Attract Me to My Friends:
1. Sense of Humor
2. A Sense of the Ridiculous
3. Intelligence
4. Compassion
5. Tolerance
6. Clearly Defined Sense of Self
7. Truthfulness
8. Fine-tuned BS-o-meter
8 Things I've Learned in the Past Year:
1. I can be wrong, and it's still okay. I'm usually right, though
2. I really do have too much time on my hands (and crazy ideas in my head)
3. Letting go is often the best thing you can do for your child (even if it's also the most difficult thing you've ever done in your whole life!)
4. Pain is nature's way of saying "You're too tense!"
5. I cannot balance my checkbook without adult supervision
6. I shoulda been a cowboy
7. No one I know wants to be called "No Toe"
8. No matter how often you pluck those chin hairs, they're still really there.
Jen, of Lords of the Manor, touched me all over in a good way with this one:
The Crazy 8's of Mumpledom:
8 Things I'm Passionate About:
1. The Fam--my Sweetie, the Toad, the Howler
2. The number 11. I go to 11.
3. Stupidity in any form (I'm against it, btw)
4. Laughing
5. Reading
6. Sleeping
7. Breathing
8. OK, I'm out of ideas
8 Things I Say Often:
1. I love you
2. Back the f* up
3. Did I stutter?
4. Whose in charge here?
5. I don't make this stuff up
6. Do I look like a people person?
7. Would you like fries with that?
8. What? What?
8 Books I Have Read Recently:
1. The Lord of the Rings trilogy (again) JRR Tolkien
2. Job: A Comedy of Justice Robert A Heinlein
3. The Shining Steven King
4. The Gospel According to Sam William Miller
5. Wicked the Life & Times of the Wicked Witch of the West Gregory Maguire
6. Sula Toni Morrison
7. The Collectors David Balducci
8. Harry Potter and....yeppers, all 7 books, all in a row JK Rowling
8 Things I Want To Do Before I Die:
1. Understand the whole "people person" thing--how does one honestly do that?
2. Finish my BA in anything
3. See the Toad become a fully functional adult
4. See the Howler mellow
5. Write much, develop a cult following
6. Learn to play guitar
7. Stop smoking (although, technically, if I die and am not, at that moment, sucking on a death-stick, I've accomplished that)
8. Go to DisneyWorld with the Howler & Kevin
8 Songs I Can Listen To Over & Over
1. Learning to Fly Pink Floyd
2. Everybody Knows Don Henley
3. If I Had $1,000,000 Bare Naked Ladies
4. A Murder of One Counting Crows
5.Valentine Martina McBride
6. (entire album) Full Moon Fever Tom Petty
7. (entire album) Little Creatures Talking Heads
8. Gimme Three Steps Lynyrd Skynyrd
8 Things That Attract Me to My Friends:
1. Sense of Humor
2. A Sense of the Ridiculous
3. Intelligence
4. Compassion
5. Tolerance
6. Clearly Defined Sense of Self
7. Truthfulness
8. Fine-tuned BS-o-meter
8 Things I've Learned in the Past Year:
1. I can be wrong, and it's still okay. I'm usually right, though
2. I really do have too much time on my hands (and crazy ideas in my head)
3. Letting go is often the best thing you can do for your child (even if it's also the most difficult thing you've ever done in your whole life!)
4. Pain is nature's way of saying "You're too tense!"
5. I cannot balance my checkbook without adult supervision
6. I shoulda been a cowboy
7. No one I know wants to be called "No Toe"
8. No matter how often you pluck those chin hairs, they're still really there.
Friday, November 09, 2007
Why Some People Need Supervision
When out in public:
I watched a woman today stand off to the side of the automatic door, staring up at it, waiting for it to open....while other people walked past her to the part that does open and exit.
I watched a woman today stand off to the side of the automatic door, staring up at it, waiting for it to open....while other people walked past her to the part that does open and exit.
Thursday, November 08, 2007
Too Much Time On My Hands
Obviously.
Last night, during my lunch break at work, I went McDonald's and got a Happy Meal. So far, that $4 bid against the food nazis has given me approximately 6 hours of giggling pleasure.
Here's why:
Frodo at the Dude Ranch on vacation.
Frodo hard at work, answering phones
Last night, during my lunch break at work, I went McDonald's and got a Happy Meal. So far, that $4 bid against the food nazis has given me approximately 6 hours of giggling pleasure.
Here's why:
Frodo at the Dude Ranch on vacation.
Frodo hard at work, answering phones
Frodo at the geekfest that is a Star Wars Convention.
Frodo at his first job: McD's drive thru.
Frodo being attacked by a large, black, furrier-than-thou animal.
Seriously, though, this is Barry, from Bee Movie fame. With proper makeup, he looks remarkably like Frodo at work. So, last night, I had fun (and much laughing) at his expense. Today, however, the giggles paid off, and, as you can see, I have quite a creative little mind.
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