Aug. 14: Back, baby.

For a while there, my blog was dying a slow death. Blogging frequently is a habit that has to be developed, for sure, and my habit has gone in waves over the 15 years I’ve been writing—there are times I have so much to share that I can’t hit the “publish” button soon or often enough, and other times when most of what’s happening in my life is not write-about-able.

In the past several months I’ve opted to considerably filter my writing, which I’ve never been all that careful to do. I started journaling on paper again because putting my thoughts into words is so therapeutic for me—I realized I needed to get them down, whether anyone else could read them or not. And now, as I look back at the things I felt I couldn’t/shouldn’t share on my blog, I see that some weren’t really that big a deal anyway; I plan to write about those in coming weeks. Others were a big deal and still are, and those will stay in my journal for now.

It is not my intention to be all mysterioso and vague, so I’ll give you an idea of some of these things—though I think most of you already know.

• Now that I’m nearly four years post-treatment, I try to keep the cancer talk to a minimum here. When a person is told their cancer is in remission, it’s easy for an outsider to think of celebrating and being done with it—y’know, move on, next chapter. But it’s not that simple, because cancer doesn’t just end. Follow-up tests go on and on. Side effects linger. Fear and frustration are enemies that like to hang out on the fringe of everything I do. While I have welcomed the return to many of my pre-cancer ways of life, there are some things that have been forever changed by my experience, and I deal with them regularly. Some of it really sucks and because I don’t want it to suck, I try to fold those things in with the rest of life—because I am alive and I do know how fortunate I am for that and I am moving forward—but there are always challenges. You would tire of hearing about them as often as they come up—trust me on this. That’s why I don’t write about it often. But to the people who might think GEEZ, SHE’S STILL TALKING ABOUT CANCER???, I have a middle finger I’d like to show you. Maybe two. And I know other people who’d love to show you theirs too.
• A few years ago my relationship with a person who had always been—and I thought always would be—in my life came to an abrupt end. She made accusations, I tried to explain myself, and she said she refused to get in a pissing contest. I took that to mean there was no sense in me arguing (that is what that means, right?), so I backed off. She then decided I did this because I was angry, and now blames my anger as the reason we don’t speak. I find a tiny bit of comfort knowing that I am not the only person she’s done this to. But ugh—it’s like dealing with my grandma all over again: nothing is ever her fault. So, if this is such a big deal, why don’t I write more about it publicly? One, because it would annoy the hell out of whatever audience I have here. And two, because I feel an unreasonable duty to protect this person. I know it makes absolutely no sense, but there you have it. 
• I’ve occasionally mentioned that I deal with depression and anxiety. It’s surprising how many people still think these are not diseases but “moods” (oh, they are soooo not moods), and that they’re a choice, that it’s just a matter of deciding to be happy and deciding not to worry. Some of the people who think depression/anxiety = psychopath are people I love, and when they’re vocal about it, I take it personally. These illnesses are complex and un-fun to deal with, and it’s not exaggerating to say they affect EVERY part of one’s life. I am able to keep my head above water and am generally living a normal human existence, thanks to things and more things.
• Partly related to the above item, I have been trying to avoid blogging about whatever is inciting my latest rage or concern (though I will make exceptions for topics like, oh, OUR HEINOUS HOMEOWNERS’ ASSOCIATION). These triggers push me up on a soapbox that can get me in trouble or make me seem highly unlikable. That ain’t good. Worse, my triggers can send me into a funk from which I find great difficulty to recover. For instance, I’m not writing about Robin Williams, even though he’s been on my mind so much this week. I have thoughts, I do. They could be spread across several posts and I’d still have more. But for purposes of self-protection, I just can’t let myself dwell. (I do want to share, though, this beautifully composed sentence I read on a fashion site, of all places, immediately after the cause of Robin Williams’ death became public; I think it is such a realistic way to describe the tragedy of suicide: “There’s such agony in the fact that a person’s delivery of joy to everyone else can be so inversely proportionate to what they find in themselves.”) Sooo… rants? Only sometimes. 

Looking back to 1999, when I first started my blog, I remember thinking it would be a great way to keep family and friends up to date with our lives. It certainly has served that purpose well over the years, and I suppose that’s the biggest reason I can’t just chuck the whole thing. (Pssst: If you read Stuff Jen Says from 1999-now, really fast, it’s like a flip-book in which you can clearly see the route I took to bonkersville. Yaaaaaay.)

I also remember what a powerful tool my blog became while I was fighting cancer. I often wonder how else I would’ve felt such a strong sense of support and love—it really was an amazing thing to behold. That’s why, when I was diagnosed with cancer again in January, this was the first place I came to share the news. Many of you sent positive and  uplifting messages, and I felt ready to face the fight with a big ol’ army behind me. And THEN. Then I was incredibly embarrassed to pull it all back when, in March, my doctors decided that I didn’t have cancer after all. Happy news, yes, but humiliating to share. If it seems ridiculous that I would be embarrassed by such a thing, please just put yourself in my shoes; I felt like people would think I announced a recurrence just to get attention. (People do shit like that, y’know—I know someone who calls herself a “cancer survivor” because she once had a suspicious mole tested. It was benign, but BOY, does she like to act as though she knows what it’s like to have fought cancer.)

When it was time for getting re-tested for all the cancer stuff this summer, I shared with just a few people what was happening. Three weeks in June and July were spent in pretty much non-stop appointments and phone calls related to this testing. Now that they’re over, I feel okay to blog about the results, which are really quite simple in summary, and YES, SHE IS STILL TALKING ABOUT CANCER:

I had a PET scan mid-June and the same spots that lit up in January lit up again. It was scary and pissed us off. There were only slight changes in the size of the spots from the last PET, so that was good. They decided to do another needle biopsy (owie), which, just like the one in March, came back negative for cancer. Hooray! But don’t celebrate just yet… The radiologist wants to test again in six months because he thinks it’s very strange that these spots continue to act like cancer on scans. If they light up again, my oncologist says we’ll do an open biopsy, which is a surgical procedure. Pfffftt.

So we wait.

I hate the waiting. Waiting for these things is a trigger. My mind goes to dark places when there’s waiting. These places are deep and gloomy and it’s easy to get lost on the paths that lead to even more murkiness. Dark places are not fun or funny or light or silly or cheery or anything of the things I prefer in life. They’re dark. (And they’re places.)

I don’t think I should blog from the dark places. I really try not to.

Moving forward, my plan is to make blogging regularly a habit again. I would like my blog to do what it was originally created to do—keep our family and friends up-to-date with our lives. And yes, that means it won’t always be fun and happy, because life is not always fun and happy. But I have always tried my best to turn the dark stuff a teensy bit lighter. “We laugh to survive,” right?

And we avoid some topics to survive too.

Dec. 30: Month in review

This was December. No doubt you were aware.

Special days I celebrated this month and how:

• My father-in-law turned another year older. No one knows for sure how old he is. Apparently his sisters disagree with the date on his birth certificate and have debated his actual birthdate since the beginning of time. Well, the beginning of Wellington’s time, anyway. Aaaanyway… we celebrated like we do every year: we went out for brunch and at the end he paid.
• It was also our niece Presley’s TENTH birthday this month! How is she already ten years old???
• Sonya’s husband, Chris, had a birthday too.
• A bunch of friends had birthdays. Don’t you December birthday people know how much it sucks to be born in December? You shoulda thought of that a long time ago. If I do shout-outs I know I’ll miss some, but here goes anyway: Dorothy, Michael, Cassie, Greg, Jen E, Stephanie, Lisa, Fancy Lori™, Terri, Cindi. I know I forgot someone there. Sorry.
• Dur, this month was Christmas. Yes, I celebrated Christmas, not because I’m a Christian, but because my family has always celebrated Christmas and I love the traditions of the holiday season. What I do not love is people being jackasses about it being CHRISTmas. I know, I know, Linus has been reminding us since 1965 that Christmas is too commercial and frequently Nativity story-free. But why aren’t we all taking responsibility for that, since few of us actually celebrate ONLY the Christ of Christmas? Why do the “Christians” (quotes because the Sarah Palin types are not very Christ-like, in my opinion) blame the atheists, Jews, and whoever it is that celebrates Kwanzaa (I don’t know any black people who do…) for it? The whole thing is just ridiculous.  
• P.S. I’ve said “happy holidays” for years because it’s shorter than saying “merry Christmas” and “happy new year.” It’s not because I’m hyper-sensitive to other types of celebrations this time of year; I’m being succinct. So if I say “happy holidays” to you, please don’t accuse me of being the whole reason there’s a war on Christmas. Just be grateful I said something with good intentions behind it. Gah!

Moving on…

I was in the audience:

• Jack’s music class performed at the mall one afternoon. They didn’t have microphones and, well, have you tried to carry on a conversation inside a mall in December? It was impossible to hear them. They looked cute though.
• Unfortunately, we could hear them much better when they performed again at a winter concert at the school the next week. I know they’re kids and I shouldn’t be critical, but I don’t blame them for the awfulness; I blame the people in charge. First, the music teachers need to take the songs down a few keys—very few people sound good singing at the top of their range, and none of those people are in the middle school choir. Secondly, kids need to be given more than a week’s worth of class periods to rehearse before performing in front of an audience. The real bummer of it was that some of the kids were quite good and had obviously practiced outside of class, but they were drowned out by the ones who couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket.
• On the other hand, it was lovely to have actual Christmas music performed in a public school setting. Maybe people are starting to freak out less about having to be so PC in December??? One can hope.
• We watched lots of our favorite Christmas movies. They’ve become a tradition in which I find great delight.
• Psych the Musical: it was big, silly fun.
• This month we watched both Sherlock Holmes movies starring Robert Downey Jr. and Jude Law. I liked them very much. RDJ wasn’t the worst Brit ever.

Gifts I gave and/or received:

I’m not going to list every single thing that was under our pagan, unJesus-y tree this year, but here were some of the biggest hits:

• The kids got an Xbox One for our newly-created media room (formerly my office). It’s super-creepy when I walk in there and “Hi, Jennifer!” appears on the TV.
• Another media room addition was a wireless printer, which I am looooving—I can print from my iPhone or iPad anywhere in the house. Why didn’t I get one sooner? So convenient.
• I hand-painted more glass goodies for gifts.
• Totally not exciting but still awesome: vacuum cleaner! Everything in our house constantly has a fine layer of Lucy-ness, and this new little wonder picks it up surprisingly well.
• I discovered these sports fan glasses on Etsy and had a pair made for one of our nieces. I think they’re way fun.

This month’s good and bad:

• There was much whining about this last month, and here’s some more: Victor had to work on Christmas Day. Pfffftt. We did everything on Christmas Eve, and when he got home the next day we went to Wellington and Darlene’s for a traditional turkey dinner. It would have sucked a lot more if not for the Xbox and the company of Mother Mary.
• I got my office cleaned out and the kids’ media room stuff moved in. Instead of tossing all my office things into boxes and moving them  into the hallway, I actually sorted every drawer and shelf. I threw away TONS of stuff, donated about the same amount, and organized all that was left over. It’s not perfect, but it’s closer than it ever has been. I think the hardest part of organizing, for me, is making decisions. I start out with piles like “file,” “shred,” “toss,” “donate,” and then as I go I add more piles, like “give to [specific person],” “sell on eBay” (which I probably won’t do), “put in a scrapbook,” “store somewhere, ANYWHERE else,” “file in that home organization binder I keep thinking I’ll create but never get around to because it requires too many decisions.”
• I floated a couple times this month. I’m enjoying floating more than ever, and truly feel refreshed and renewed for days afterward. If you haven’t floated, I recommend it. Highly.
• Victor is super-sicky today. He’s running a fever, doing the cold sweat thing, and generally feels miserable. This afternoon my throat started feeling scratchy, and now I’m worried I’m coming down with the same thing—just in time for a very non-memorable, now-all-our-plans-are-cancelled New Year’s Eve. Stoopid germs.

newsy bits from in and around our family:

• Katie’s done with the first major phase of her braces! In mid-February she’ll get the spacing appliance removed and have the railroad tracks put on her top teeth. Brace yourself (haha)—she’s a big baby when in pain.
• Jack told me today that his favorite food is ramen noodles, drained of all moisture and with no seasoning whatsoever. What is wrong with that boy??? Blech.
• A while back I mentioned that my last post-cancer treatment checkup had shown some weird stuff. I wasn’t being intentionally vague, but some of you have asked about it since and I want to clarify with a bit more detail. Here goes.
  
  My regularly-scheduled January 2013 CT showed a single lymph node that was several centimeters larger than the scan in July 2012. The radiologist recommended a PET scan, which showed no new cancer growth—they decided the lymph node was enlarged for no apparent reason (totally normal in a person who hasn’t had lymphoma, but a red flag for someone who has). I was advised to have another CT in six months.
  
  Even though my cancer was still in remission, I was frustrated because January 2013 was supposed to be the last of my 6-month checks. I desperately wanted to get my port removed, but figured I should keep it since I had another checkup on the calendar. I went in for a CT in July 2013 and there were 4-5 enlarged lymph nodes. Some of them were two and three times what they had been in January 2013—but we’re still talking millimeters/centimeters; it’s not as concerning as it might seem (apparently). Still, given my history, my oncologist said we would keep our eyes on those nodes. On the radiologist’s recommendation, we scheduled a PET scan for January 2014.
  
  Again, this is frustrating because I can’t have my port removed yet—and I have to go to the chemo room every six weeks to have it flushed and I HATE being back there, even briefly—but also because I just want to be DONE with cancer. Grrrrr.
  
  My next PET scan will be January 23, and I’ll see my oncologist on the 28th. Think good thoughts, please.

I likes to share the silly stuff:

I know I just posted silly pics the other day. Here are a few more.

 

 

  

Tomorrow I’ll post my YEAR in review. You are on pins and needles waiting. I know this. 

Sep. 23: Why I blog

Day #23, blah-dee, blah-dee, blah… Today’s topic:

Why did you start blogging?

I said in this post that I started my blog to easily share news and photos when we were expecting our first bebbeh. A lot of the things I posted back then have since been deleted, not because they were ultra-private but because the way I used to blog was really, really dumb. Back then, apps like Blogger were not readily-available; I had to edit HTML pages. Instead of updating a page with new news and photos, I would simply replace old content with new. See? Dumb.

My blog really hasn’t changed that much since it started, except for a few years in which I blogged almost every day. I still share family news and photos, still post silly images I find around the ‘net, still try to make y’all believe I’m a better wife than I am. I’ve occasionally tried new types of post, but nothing really *sticks* for the long term. Sherilee has posted a “Friday Night Grateful Moment” every week—such dedication! Some people do “Wordless Wednesdays” (photos only), “Throwback Thursdays” (an old photo, sometimes accompanied by fun memories), and other regular post types. I do my monthly summaries, but I don’t think there’s much else you can count on seeing on a regular basis at Stuff Jen Says.

Honestly, I’m not a huge fan of posting something because someone says to. It’s one thing if you’ve set up the tradition for yourself (like Sherilee’s), but if you’re blogging only because some all-powerful site says “post a picture today but don’t use words,” well, shouldn’t you just do that any time you feel like it? I realize that this month I’ve been blogging exactly like someone’s telling me what to do, and as I’ve hinted over the last few days, I’m getting tired of it. However, Sherilee and I came up with the list of topics on our own (yes, some topics were inspired by other blog challenges, but we still put the month together ourselves) for the purpose of getting back into the habit of posting regularly. And I’m pretty sure neither of us will continue posting every day, answering questions that we answered two days earlier.

I’ve been trying to get my mom to start a blog for years. She enjoys writing, and there’s nothing like the good practice you get from writing for publication. Well, she finally obeyed my command (ha!), and I’d like to recommend her blog to you: Flying Free. It’s been up for a couple weeks now. Take a minute to leave her a comment—it’ll totally make her day.

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And now I’ll share a story with you that makes me glad I have a blog on which I’m allowed to vent.

Sometimes Fighting Cancer is really super-duper annoying

The other night I went to a poker fundraiser for Leukemia & Lymphoma Society. I knew there’d only be one other person there that I’d ever met (Theresa, one of my BFFs), but because L&LS is an organization I care about, I didn’t mind spending the evening with strangers. Of course, Theresa and I ended up at different tables and I was stuck playing poker with six people I didn’t know. They all knew each other. It wasn’t the most comfortable setting, but, y’know, it was still POKER. I loves me my poker.

Our table was very long; I was seated at the end and struggled to deal cards to the players at the opposite end without flipping them. EVERY time I dealt, this loud guy at the other end would say NO, NO, START OVER. YOU MESSED UP. I’d stop and count, along with everyone else at the table, and the rest of them would say KEEP GOING, YOU’RE FINE because I hadn’t messed anything up. Every time, he’d yell. I really wanted to tell him to shut the hell up, but I kept quiet.

At one point he yelled at me that I needed to get the cards “somewhat close” to the person they were for because the wrong person would touch them. Did he want me to place his cards directly in his booger-stained hands? Why was this jackass telling me how to deal? I kinda channeled Val for a sec and yelled right back: NO ONE ELSE IS COMPLAINING. IF YOU WOULD JUST PAY ATTENTION IT’D BE PRETTY EASY FOR YOU TO FIGURE OUT WHICH CARDS ARE YOURS. I even threw him a dirty look. (Val, aren’t you proud of me???)

He made a big deal about the rules of the game, betting amounts, and playing only when it’s your turn, blah blah blah… I didn’t have a problem with his know-it-all-ness, because there were newbies at our table; it was good for everyone to be reminded of the rules. Funny thing was, sometimes after the cards were dealt he would just get up and leave. He might have planned to fold when it was his turn, but he didn’t tell anyone that, so we’d sit there and wait for him to come back. People would call for him, but there were three other full tables in the place, and he was doing lots of socializing. BUT if someone else at our table got up during a hand, this a-hole would start a very loud countdown and then declare their turn “lost.” He also changed the rules of betting increments halfway through the game. There was no use arguing with this guy, so I didn’t say a thing.

One time after I dealt the cards he accused me of dealing too many to him. He actually hadn’t turned in his cards from the previous hand, but when someone suggested that, he insisted that that wasn’t it. Yes, he was probably right—I dealt two cards to everyone else, but four to him. That makes perfect sense.

As the evening went on, the beer was flowing and a lot of it went straight into his giant, noisy, asshole-y face. He started arguing with two other players about who was dealer and how he’d been the big blind for at least three turns in a row. I wasn’t drinking at all (I know, I can’t believe it either), and was obviously the only player who could focus enough to see what was going on, but even when I spoke up he wouldn’t stop insisting on whatever he was so “completely, 100 percent, totally, definitely, bet all my chips sure” about. Blerg.

After two hours, the hosts started moving players around so we were down to two tables. I was getting my things together and looked up to see Mr. Loud Guy pick up my chips, knock a bunch to the floor, and take off to the other room. I went up and said WHAT ARE YOU DOING?, grabbed my chips back, and he bellowed (yes, bellowed!) I’M TRYING TO HELP YOU. I should’ve have blamed it on how drunk he was, but I had reached my limit with him and was D-O-N-E DONE. I got down on the floor to pick up all the chips he’d dropped and he came back to me, yelling down at the back of my head that he was just trying to help. I yelled back I CAN TAKE CARE OF MY OWN CHIPS. I had been doing really well in the game, had four full trays of chips, and would have loved to keep on playing, but I soooo needed to  punch that guy in the throat. It was time to go. Theresa had left. I had contributed to the L&LS fundraising, and that was the important thing.

I handed my chips over to someone else and asked her to finish for me. I thanked the hosts and headed home. Theresa texted me yesterday to say the host contacted her and wanted to apologize to me for Mr. Loud Guy’s behavior, which was very kind of him. Too bad he has such a d-bag for a friend.

As if cancer isn’t bad enough, trying to prevent it means having to deal with jackholes like this? Yikes. Not that I want to stop fundraising for cancer, EVER, but maybe next time I’ll bring Val to be my bodyguard.

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If you’re a blogger and want to do our blog challenge with us, let me know and I’ll send you our list! Otherwise, tune in here (and on Sherilee’s happy little blog) every day in September.

Jan. 10: Questions of the day

What makes a person put an empty coffee pot back on the burner? You do realize what happens when you do that, don’t you? And you know that the smell of scorched coffee hangs in the air long after the coffee has completely burned away? Yes, it might remind me of my Grandma Saltmarsh’s house—she was Queen of Putting the Empty Coffee Pot Back on the Burner—but I STILL hate the smell of burning coffee.

Are you quite finished, PSY? Please say yes. Pretty sure we’ve had enough.

Why are some people are so threatened by the term “gun control”? They scare me. They scare me very much.

Sometimes I think I’m invisible when I’m driving. That’s the only reason people would pull into the street and make me slam on my brakes, right? Or go 15mph on a 40mph street? Or back out of a parking space without looking? I never think I’m invisible when it really benefits me, though, and that is downright unfair.

Fleas. Why they gotta keep coming to my house? I have made it a very unwelcome environment for them.

Do we really have to spend the next 6+ months hearing Kim Kardashian talk about being pregnant as though she’s the first person on earth who’s gone through the experience? Remember, if we ignore these worthless reality stars, they’ll go away…

The trash collectors in my neighborhood are jackholes. I know that isn’t a question.

Why WHY WHY can’t my breakfast be made of Powerberries?

If Victor hadn’t left the empty coffee pot on the burner this morning, this post might never have been written. You are invited to thank him when you see him next by doing something incredibly annoying. Please.

Dec. 13: In which Jen bitches a whole bunch

Before I get to the funny pics, I need to vent. It’s my blog, so I have the right to do it and I’m gonna. So pfffftt.  Note: I removed a section of this post, for several reasons. I’m sorry.

1. On Tuesday there was a random shooting at Clackamas Town Center. This is scary for tons of reasons, but for us, Clackamas Town Center is the mall we shop at most often—it’s LITERALLY too close to home.
   
   I’ve always joked that of the three largest malls in the Portland area, the worst crimes shoppers might face would be…
   1. Lloyd Center: gunfight or gang activity
   2. Clackamas: fist fights or gettin’ beaned by empty PBR cans
   3. Washington Square: whapped by a Coach purse in a random swinging
2. Turns out I was wrong, and that makes me mad.
3. I know we’re supposed to focus our thoughts on the heroes of the event—the positive things that happened during this tragedy, the ways people showed kindness to strangers—and all the ways it could have been so much worse, but what I think more than anything is that people are assholes. The shooter’s aforethought (stealing the gun, getting dressed in camo clothes and a hockey mask, planning for a crowded mall, etc.), not caring at all that it would affect thousands of people for the rest of their lives… only an asshole would commit a crime like that. Maybe an insane asshole, but definitely an asshole. Also a coward, who shoots himself at the end.
4. BUT WAIT, THERE’S MORE. There was recently another tragedy in our area in which a father woke his kids up in the middle of the night and shot himself in front of them. How do witnesses ever recover from something like that? I don’t think they do. Yep, all signs point to ASSHOLE.
5. GUNS. Say what you will for or against gun control; I don’t care. I just hate guns. I hate them, hate them, hate them.
6. I’m not done venting! (Does that make you mad???)
7. WHO MAKES THESE DECISIONS? Clackamas Town Center used to be in Clackamas, but now it’s in Happy Valley. Clackamas is not actually a city. There’s a county called “Clackamas,” and Clackamas is a region that makes it on the news when, say, Tonya Harding does yet another stupid thing, or when there’s a mall shooting, but that’s it. Wikipedia says Clackamas is a “census-designated place” (well, that clears it right the eff up!). On the other hand, Happy Valley, which is all around Clackamas, is a city. Happy Valley has changed its boundaries about eleventy times since we moved here in 1997, and I honestly don’t even know where we live anymore. There are signs in three different places on the way into my neighborhood that say “Welcome to Happy Valley,” but technically we are still in Clackamas. Why doesn’t stuff make more sense?

And now I shall share the silly stuff I’ve been saving up for y’all.

 

Mother Maaaaary:

 

 

Y’know how the past few election losers have quietly disappeared
for a while, not giving all sorts of reasons/excuses the other guy won?
I respected Dole, Gore, Kerry, and McCain for their post-election behavior.
Romney, take a cue and shut the holes in your perfectly-coiffed head.

 

Redneck advent calendar

 

 

May 19: Mean people suck

I need something to take my mind off the people who are mean for no reason except to be big fat meanies oh my buddha I hate them so much I get all stabby and twitchy-eyed and I just know my day is about to become a Lifetime movie because I’ve got a lighter and a lot of flammable liquids in my pantry.

That image is of someone yelling, sure, but it doesn’t even come close to how I feel. I feel more like this…

…y’know, crazy enough over this that it shows. (Except I don’t have a porn ‘stache.)

I know I shouldn’t let these meanie jackholes get to me, but I’m human and I can’t help it. I just don’t understand how people go through their lives leaving a path of destructive hurt and cruelty behind them. My guess is that some don’t even know they do it because it comes so naturally to them, and I think that’s super-sad. I also think/hope that karma will get them in the end. Unfortunately, karma doesn’t always follow my timing demands.

I’m not completely self-deluded; I can be mean. I can. I just usually need a good reason for it. Oh, who am I kidding? Sometimes totally innocent people are on the receiving end of my grouchiness. I apologize when I’ve done something wrong or insensitive or mean. though—but only if I truly feel it. In in the end, I hope everyone gets what they deserve. I like that you-get-what-you-give thing. But mostly, I try not to go out of my way to be a meanie.

I don’t like being lied to, especially when it’s done in a two-faced way. Can I trust you or can’t I? Just wondering that makes me think I probably shouldn’t trust you. And when these liars are people I associate with regularly, that makes trust a constant battle.

I also don’t like having someone pissed at me when I have no idea what I did to deserve it. If they think I should know why they’re pissed, then I feel like an idiot and wonder if I’m just as clueless as they are and then I start hating myself and questioning every behavior and personality trait I can identify and then I feel like I need one of these things:

Or this might be more appropriate:

The problem is that when I’ve presented my case to an unbiased ear, if that ear completely takes my side and blames everything on the meanies, I question the validity of that too. I mean, when my friends support me and say mean things about the mean people, I appreciate it but I know they’re doing it because they love me. But someone I PAY to listen to me? They don’t have to be biased. They have to be honest, right? And when they say, “those people are jackholes,” then I tend to think maybe things are more like I see them than I thought. Maybe I’m not so far off when I say some people are mean for no reason.

Then I wish I was this:

Ultimately, because all of this uncertainty and self-doubt magnifies the tiniest issue, it makes me hate being a girl at times.

But back to my venting…

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…please ‘scuse me while I get some of this frustration and anger OUT of me:

 

 

 

And to try to change it around, today I’ll work on remembering this:

"Holding on to anger and resentment is like drinking poison and expecting someone else to die."

And this is a good one too:

Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle.

Apr. 17: I don’t get people sometimes

I’ve been holding this in for a few days now, not knowing whether I should blog about it. I finally decided I could. Maybe I shouldn’t, but that’s my call and I call YES. I shall blog about it. I shall blog about it because it’s ridiculous and WOW, people sure can be jackholes.

Here’s what happened:

A fellow parent at my kids’ school—and possibly a Facebook “friend” of mine—apparently thought a recent discussion on my Facebook wall was inappropriate and took it to the school principal.

My reaction upon hearing about this was not fear. It was fury, because, um, WTF? There’s stuff on my Facebook wall that kids shouldn’t see, it’s true. But I’m not FB friends with grade-schoolers, so if my wall is PG-13 or R-rated, no biggie. I’ll post just about anything on my wall; the “TMI” line is far, far in the distance. The only thing I’m super-careful about when posting on Facebook is spelling and punctuation errors, because GOD FORBID.

Anyhoodle, my guess is that this particular conversation was shown to the principal because I am on the PTO board, which means some people think I am held to a higher standard than other parents. Excuse me—I must laugh for a very long time now.

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Still laughing. Sorry, it’s just so damn funny!

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OK, I’m done.

As a member of the PTO executive board, I try to do good things for the school. Due to budget cuts, I volunteer my time to work on projects that wouldn’t get done otherwise. Along with a lot of other volunteers, I break my back fundraising so kids can have fun family nights at the school, field trips are cheaper, the library can get new books, we can show our teachers we appreciate them, and more. Being on the PTO executive board does not make me any better than other parents at the school. It doesn’t make me any more of a role model than another parent either. I’m just a mom. If I wanted more recognition for the PTO-related work I do, I’d find a real job, because as far as I know, I can’t pay my mortgage with the smiley “Hi, Mrs. Manullang”-s I get when I walk down the halls at school.

So, since *I* don’t think I’m anything special, why would anyone else? Why would a conversation on MY Facebook wall be any more deserving of a second look than a similar conversation on another parent’s Facebook wall?

Did it have to do with illegal activity?

No.

Did it have to do with school?

No.

Was it inappropriate?

For a school bulletin board, yes. For my Facebook wall, no.

Did it make me look like a bad role model?

Maybe. Maybe not. I suppose that depends on your point-of-view, or more importantly, IF YOU HAVE A FRIGGIN’ SENSE OF HUMOR.

Did I get spanked for it?

No.

I hope you’re happy, Humorless Fellow Parent. I don’t know what kind of good you thought you were doing, but you wasted the principal’s time and you angered a lot of people with your jackassery. If you expect me to censor myself for you, guess again.

Feb. 17: Roadus rageus maximus

OK, so I was driving home from work today, on a 35-mph hour street leading up to Division, and a car stopped in front of me with its turn signal on. This usually means the person is going to turn, correct? This person did not turn. This person stayed right there in the street, where I could not get around him. I waited for a bit before I honked a little tiny honk, like “ahem!” He stuck his hand out and waved to the side like I should go around him. I could not go around him, though; besides there being no room, there was also a bike lane and the only time I’ve ever been stopped by a cop was when I once went in a bike lane to pass a turning car. Even if there had been room to pass this guy, I probably wouldn’t have.

So, I sit there, waiting and waiting while this jackass is pretty much parked in the middle of the road, and finally I lay on the horn. This time I really gave it my all. It was a big ol’ HOOOOONK! and didn’t do a bit of good. The driver waved me on again. I’m all, I CAN’T GET AROUND YOU, EFFER! (Should I mention that the car had California plates? It seems like that is a detail that should not be left out. California plates. Yes.)

Another guy walks over from the side of the road, where the car would have turned had it done what its blinker said it was going to do, and gets in the back seat of the car. I think, OK, NOW he’s going to go. But did the car move? No. So I lay on the horn again, and this time three hands come out from the windows to wave me around them. Hands of JACKASSES, all three. Idiot jackasses, in fact. Because only idiots do what these guys were doing.

Cars are starting to line up behind me when another guy comes over and gets in the other side of the  car. Finally, the blinker turns off and the car moves forward. Of course, even though they’re moving, by now I’m completely pissed at their rude behavior—we don’t drive that way in Oregon, idiot jackass from California!—and can feel my blood start to boil. It’s right about now that I think it’s probably a good thing I don’t keep a gun in my car, because I would have totally used it on them. I’m thinking I might have to start carrying one just for situations like this. My gun would not shoot bullets, though; I’m a peace-loving person. Instead, I think I’d make it shoot staples or nails or maybe live piranha. That would get my point across just fine, and I wouldn’t go to prison. Not for life, anyway.

Nov. 17: I pity the fool

When you hear the name of the musical group “Wilson Phillips,” what goes through your mind?

I remember traveling with Julie Gates from Walla Walla to Portland to the Oregon coast and back, and their debut CD might have been the only thing we listened to the entire weekend. We kinda loved them. Right now, though, the memory of those three days makes me wish I still had the CD just so I could throw it out onto the freeway to watch it bounce and shatter.

Don’t get me wrong—I’d sing “Hold On” at the top of my lungs were it to come on the radio. But purposely listening to the entire album? No thanks. Much of what makes them repellent comes from the combination of riding their parents’ coattails of one-time popularity, their harmonies being perfected with recording studio gadgetry, and all that woeful staring off in the distance (or even worse, directly at the camera) in their videos. <shiver>

Every once in a while I hear their song, “You’re in Love,” overhead in restaurants and stores, and I want to stab my brain with a Q-tip. I call it “The Bullshit Song,” because it’s all about a couple breaking up and one of them saying she’s happy for the other when he falls in love with someone else. Nobody ever really feels that way, I don’t care how mature you insist you are. NOBODY. EVER. FEELS. THAT. WAY. Hear me?

Here it is, in all of its hideous glory, as proof of what bullshit it is:

Hear that? It’s all bullshit.

Much of the reason I hate “You’re in Love,” I think, is why I can’t stop listening to this other song. Had I ever heard of Cee Lo before this? No. Do I even like this kind of music? Not really. But the awesomeness of its honesty makes me love it.

Hear that? It’s what people think but don’t say. IT IS.

Want a cleaner, more kid-appropriate version? Here ya go. Or if you prefer Gwyneth Paltrow’s performance when she guest-starred on Glee, watch this one. The clean versions still work, but they don’t have that same oomph as the original. I do like the Stephen Colbert version, though, in which he gives the song a much different feel by rewriting the lyrics to say “Fox News.” Awesome.

It’s been quite a few years since I’ve been through a breakup, so if the timing of sharing these videos is questionable, I understand. The timing is insignificant. I blame this new song for bringing back memories of the angry stage of post-breakup emotions. But does my sarcasm and bitterness linger? No! Not a bit! I’m fine, just fine!