Category Archives: Incessant Whining

Be Careful What You Wish For

Be careful what you wish for because when you’re finally about to get it, you might find that it’s actually a very scary proposition and that maybe you’re not really up to it even though you’ve bitched and whined and complained and argued for it endlessly for almost a year and you know that you really do want it but when you think about it, your nervous stomach kicks in and you have to run to the bathroom and for a minute or two you are distracted by thoughts about your typically lazy colon and how great it would be if you were this anxious all the time because then you’d never have that uncomfortable feeling that prompts you to add Benefiber to everything you eat and drink (which doesn’t work worth a crap, by the way and no pun intended) and why the hell are you talking to the internet about constipation when what you really wanted to unload on them (again, no pun intended) were your fears about moving to the other side of the country (because if you were to move, that’s the only place your husband will go) and it’s still hard to think about leaving what little you have in the way of family, even though they’re all step-relatives, because you know they’d never waste a plane ticket to come see you so you know you might never see any of them again except maybe for a funeral or something and God, who wants to think about that as a reason NOT to move???

*deep cleansing breaths, deep cleansing breaths*

Yes. Husband has finally decided he’s ready to consider moving from here. What prompted this change of heart? Well, we just got our new homeowners insurance bill and it’s almost doubled even though we’ve never filed a claim and have not, in recent history, even HAD a hurricane in this part of Florida. Basically, we’re subsidizing all the dummies who live on the water, lose their homes in a hurricane and then choose to rebuild in the same place.

In addition to that, we just found out our health insurance is going up AGAIN and that for a family of four we’re paying almost $1000 a month now with a group plan. That figure could pay for a second story addition on this small house but no…we get to shell out all this extra money and we’re getting exactly NOTHING in return. It’s bullsh*t.

My husband makes good money. By definition we’re not poor. It’s our outrageous car insurance, homeowners insurance and health insurance that are eating us alive and we just came to the conclusion that we wouldn’t mind sacrificing that money if we were happier with where we lived but we’re not and it just doesn’t make any sense to shell out insane amounts of money so you can live somewhere in which you’re not happy. And then when you hear on the news that the summer of 2007 is going to be the hottest one ever, living this far south seems even less appealing.

So…I don’t know what happens next as I sit here and ruminate, half thrilled and half terrified, but I do know that the day before yesterday I was thinking about how if you really want something (like moving somewhere better), you have to focus more positive energy on it rather than thinking about all the negative stuff (everything I hate about Florida). It was just a passing thought but sort of epiphanous (is that a word?) in it’s simplicity.

Yesterday, Husband called me and told me about our health insurance premiums increasing and after a semi-long discussion, he said that he was ready to “do it”, meaning getting out of here. Wow…that positive thinking stuff works fast!


Now what?!

When is MY Day Off?

The Original Perfect Post Awards

I’m finally back to posting after a nice Thanksgiving. The food was good, the company was pleasant and that for which I am so very thankful…the TV remained off the entire time. I have a real pet peeve about TV’s being on at a social gathering. We listened to music all day instead and it was way better.

Since the huz drove us there and I was driving us home, I didn’t drink any alcohol. I was beat anyway. I’d stayed up late the night before and as the day wore on, all standard child-related duties plus the ancillary ones like making sure P didn’t destroy my SIL’s house, seemed to become my responsibility while the huz socialized and partook in the pleasant lubrication of an alcoholic beverage or two. By the time we rolled out of the driveway at 7:30pm, I was so ready to be home.

As soon as we got on the interstate I noticed I was having a hard time keeping my eyes open. For an hour and a half I pinched at my arm hairs through my jacket to stay awake. Good times, indeed, and tiny little bruises to boot.

When we were almost home P started to cry and when we got him into the house, we saw that he was COVERED with hives, which terrifies me because my daughter has a deadly food allergy. I gave him some Benadryl and and after he stopped scratching, I reluctantly put him to bed.

The next morning, still a bit testy about the division of labor at my SIL’s house, I wasn’t being very pleasant to the huz who seemed to feel like sleeping in was his destiny and without going into all the specifics, we ended up having a big argument.

It wasn’t about the night before or about any one thing in particular, which is what boggles my mind the most. And yet it’s the same argument we have had about twice a year for nearly all of the 12 years we’ve been married and long before we had children.

I don’t want to misrepresent my husband. It’s not that he’s a bad person, or that he hurts me me in any way. It’s not that he spends all our money on gambling or drugs or stays out all night. He’s a great husband and father and human being in all the ways that really matter and he does help around the house and he does help with the kids. He’s good with all that stuff. But there are issues…

I know going to work every day is a responsibility but it’s OVER at 5pm. My job is 24-7. And EVEN though he takes care of the kitchen, trash, outside stuff and helps with the kids, I still feel like the overall responsibility of making our lives run smoothly is mine and that it counts for just as much as his job.

And it’s not that he disagrees, either, because he knows what I do all day is hard. But it’s something else that goes way beyond whose turn it is to change the next diaper or get up with the baby in the middle of the night. I can and do ask him to do those things with NO problem. I reiterate…doing his part with housework, childcare etc. is not the issue.

The best way I can put it is to say that sometimes I would like him to step up, unsolicited, and just steer the damn ship and be the responsible party and make all the decisions and let me just sit back and be passive and and not have to think or worry about any aspect of our lives for just a little while, now and then. Doesn’t everyone need that sometime? Please tell me this makes sense.

During our argument, I had asked him when MY day off was? When is MY holiday from work? His response was that he is getting paid to not be at work which STILL doesn’t answer my question…when is MY day off? He doesn’t GET that if he had to be “on duty” every second of his life, he’d be resentful, too. In my opinion, he’s the lucky one because he knows that no matter what, I will be in the background making sure everything, as in EVERY DAMN THING, is taken care of. Who wouldn’t want that? Shit! I want a wife, too.

Maybe I’m asking for something he can’t give. Or maybe I’m the one who needs to change. I can’t even tell anymore. But I definitely don’t want to end up as the couple that’s been married for decades and barely speak to each other anymore because they can’t put themselves in the other person’s shoes.

No. I want to be happy. Deliriously, foolishly happy. But I’d settle for just being content. And thus, another argument is swept under the rug while I ponder what to do.

And to tie up my holiday weekend in a nice little bow, I took P to the doctor on Friday and the doctor determined that his recent rash and hives are the onset of a virus (which reared it’s ugly head today with a super high fever) Oh, and TQ developed hives on her stomach when we were AT the pediatrician’s office yesterday so I imagine her own viral illness will kick in sometime tomorrow. This is two weekends in a row of sick kids.

God clearly hates me.

Time for Change

Ever since I came home from attending a blogging conference where I partied like a rockstar with tons of amazing women and a great guy learned many valuable, useful and important things about blogging and got my photo taken with the always impressive Arianna Huffington, I have been feeling kind of…blah.

I’m not sure if it’s because this event that I looked forward to for months has come to pass or what but my blah-ness has manifested itself in a number of ways that are really bothering me. Chaos seems to reign supreme around here lately.

I’m turning into ADD-Mom, leaving a wake of unfinished stuff everywhere I go because I’m so easily distracted or tired from staying up so late. Things just aren’t getting done. My social commitments have been faced with reluctance. I have all sorts of personal appointments (that’s code for PAP smear, dental cleaning etc.) I need to make and go to but somehow, I just can’t find it within myself to care about any of it. I’ve come to the conclusion that this kind of thing feeds on itself and that I really need to do something.

So…today is the day. It’s just baby steps but I am going to do every item on my crap-I-HAVE-to-do list, I’m not going to get sucked into time-wasting activities online (much), I’m going to do my design work tonight but quit at a reasonable hour, I’m also going to give myself some down time (I can’t remember the last time I watched TV or read a book at night) and finally, I am going to bed early, which for me would be no later than 1:30am.

You might have noticed that I don’t even discuss cooking or cleaning. I can’t bear to. I loathe cooking dinner SO much lately that I get itchy just thinking about it. And cleaning? Hmmph. If I can just address the clutter created daily by my children, I would consider myself successful.

This is really more of a recipe for getting my life back on track. Staying up way too late (is 3am late?) and then having to nap every morning to make up for it, not having any down time and wasting a lot of time online (not including reading blogs, of course) are three things that need to change for good. I just realized that time management seems to be the common thread here.

Why doesn’t that surprise me?

So, friends and passersby, please tell me…do you have issues with time management? Do you find all your time getting sucked down the proverbial rabbit hole?

How do you deal with it?

I Bit the Bullet

I did it. I bit the bullet and went jeans shopping. Why? Because I’m cheap, dammit. Through my employer, I occasionally get these special discount cards for major department stores and if you’re savvy (read: cheap like me) you can really rock the discount and save some big $$$. So, irresistibly drawn to that place most unholy the mall with the lure of new jeans on the cheap, I put my game face on and hit the racks.

Okay, I have just one thing to say. WHY do fashion designers hate me so? What did I EVER do to them? First they come out with these hideous low-rise things that do nothing but make my already not-so-great ass disappear, but they showcase all my post-baby mid-section gushiness, too. I would be content to ignore their existence and let other people look bad in them if there were some other jeans out there that looked better than “eh” on me. Sadly, it could never be that simple *sigh*

And it gets worse. Have you SEEN the abomination that are skinny-leg jeans? I look like a denim drumstick in those things. They weren’t that great in the 80’s either but at least back then I didn’t resemble poultry while wearing the skinny-legged evil.

Ladies…it’s only a matter of time before my beloved bootcut, the kindest cut of all, is but a distant memory. Get them now before they’re all gone.

So anyway, the shopping. Yes. It was not so great. Everything is stretchy now and low cut stretch denim always falls down on me. So big deal, right? I should just yank them back up. Well, that only works properly when you don’t have a 24lb baby on your hip. Ultimately, I have one side up and the other side drooping down. It’s not my best look. Or anyone’s best look. But as much as I loathe the stretch, I ended up with some DKNY Soho jeans. They were $48 and I saved about $19 so it was a good deal but I’m not madly in love with these jeans. They’re “eh”. Believe me, I would have bought the $170 Lucky or Juicy Couture jeans if they’d fit me better. I am so picky and hard to fit that when I find something that I do like, I will stop being cheap and throw down whatever they’re asking. I would not, however, pay $75 for an ugly green Juicy Couture T shirt. Ever.

This is probably just because I am jealous of rich people, or so says Alice.

(Ladies and gentleman. I’ve hit the big time. Tonight I received my first trollish comment. Courtesy of Alice, my little blog is now rubbing elbows with the dooces and Suburban Blisses of the world. Yay.)

The funniest part, however, is that it was in regard to the Real Housewives of the OC post I did about a month ago. *rolls eyes*

According to the all-knowing Alice, I am just jealous because I am “stuck in middle class America“. It seems that my opinions (as well as those of the other commenters) have absolutely nothing to do with the shallow, vacuous nature of the show and the people on it. No. We hated the show and ragged on the so-called real housewives because they have money and we need to “Grow up, some people live comfortably, you cant hate them for that.”

I can’t? Uh…okay. If it makes you feel better to believe that, then by all means, please do. I wouldn’t dream of furthering a dispute with you over RHOC . No sirreeee. That would go against my very strict policy of only arguing with people lucid enough to separate reality from reality TV :)

Dude…that’s rude

My daughter has beautiful eyes. My hub has blue eyes and I have brown and hers are this gorgeous hazel-ish color. I totally covet them.

Being adopted, I’ve never looked like anyone in my family. And even though I didn’t KNOW I was adopted for like, my whole life, I was keenly aware that I shared no resemblance to anyone in the clan (I did I not have a clue? Uh…well because you don’t expect that anyone would ever deceive you on such a massive scale. That’s how.)

Anyway, when I saw these lovely hazel colored contacts at my optometrist’s office, I decided I must have them and I wear them every day. See…in a slightly cruel twist of fate, it so happens that my daughter (and son) strongly resemble Hubz, so in this small way, she and I look similar and I like it. It makes me happy.

What doesn’t make me happy is when some dumbass comes along and thinks their keen powers of observation should be shared with me. To wit…

“Are you wearing colored contacts? ‘Cause I can kind of tell.”

Then WHY are you asking me?????? It’s not supposed to be a state secret or anything but that’s just rude.

Maybe I should ask you about those shiny 80’s style control-top hose you’re wearing. Or perhaps we should discuss that fake ponytail-on-a-banana-clip you’ve got attached to your head, hmmmm?

And to that end, I’ve put together a brief little primer for the rude and/or clueless people of the world on what NOT to do when faced with a little well-intentioned fakeness.

Here is an excerpt from Chapter 1:

Don’t stare at someone intensely and then go “Do you have xxxxx or xxxxx or xxxxx? ’cause I can kind of tell”

Because that’s so tacky and the recipient of such a statement may be forced to call you on your Wonderbra, chicken cutlet bra stuffers, acrylic nails, dye job, highlights, spray-on tan, whitened teeth, braces, makeup or any other thing you do to feel better about yourself and that might prove to be a tad embarrassing and uncomfortable for you.

That’s right — keeping your astute observations to yourself is not only kind to the other person but a real face-saver for you, too. It’s a win-win and who doesn’t like one of those?

Stay tuned for further installments of my manifesto, loosely titled How NOT to Be a Rude, Gauche, Socially-Inept Idiot.

(Please note…”you” is not meant as YOU, the reader, specifically. And it’s supposed to be funny so don’t go taking it all personal and stuff, aiight?)

The Return of Aunt Flo

“Aunt Flo” Ugh…I’ve always hated that expression that signified the arrival of of one’s period. Why can’t women just say “I got my PERIOD”?

Today I got mine for the first time in 16 months. I knew it would return eventually but I was rather enjoying NOT having the bloating and the zits and the moodiness and everything else that comes with the arrival of my PERIOD. I was blaming a lot of my irritability on being tired and dealing with P’s crabbiness due to the thing that I don’t want to talk about anymore because I know it’s tiresome. You know…the “T” word (*whispers “teething”*). In a way this is good. The arrival of my PERIOD explains a lot.

For example…early the other morning, after being up and down all night with P and dealing with his absolute inability to be content, I was just exhausted and I started sobbing to my husband and insisting that he clearly does not care at all about my mental health and emotional well-being, because if he did he would have somehow found a way for me to, just once, get eight uninterrupted hours of sleep. I swore that I was going to check into a hotel later that day and not come home until I’d captured the sleep that I’ve been chasing for 16 months.

Later, after I’d gotten a grip and calmed down, I realized I must have appeared really unhinged but alas…it was just my PERIOD talking. What a relief to know that I will not have to jump through the clusterf*ck of hoops known as “managed care” to secure mental health benefits. That might unhinge me for real.

More happy news… According to my toilet-time floor inspection, the bathroom tile seems to finally be losing it’s post-pregnancy haircarpet. Soon I expect to be finding nothing but regular old pubic hair on the bathroom floor.

The Daymare Before Christmas

It’s the day before Christmas and all through the house, every one of us is miserable, so I turn to my mouse (sorry, I couldn’t resist). Anyway, both kids were up several times last night with various issues and maladies and at one point, around 3am, the baby decided he wanted to play. It wasn’t as cute as it sounds. Eventually, we had to divide and conquer and each of us slept in a room with a kid. Today we are all cranky, tired and at least three of us are plagued with coughs and/or stuffy noses..

And just so you know my pissy mood is completely warranted, here are some more reasons for me to be irritated…

- Cat #1 got into the kind of ugly but-oh-so-tasty Christmas cookies that my daughter and I made and they’re almost all ruined
cookie photo

- Cat #2 left a pile of turd pudding (from the $113 antibiotics) in my bedroom. I’ll spare you the visuals on this one.

- My mother-in-law wants all of us to hike it over to my husband’s grandmother’s assisted living place and visit her because she’s sick and they don’t want to bring her to Christmas. Yeah, let me take my sick kids to visit a sick person so they can all get MORE sick.

- And our TV finally shit the bed for real this time. Our efforts to revive it one last time were futile. It’s not even 5 years old. Grrrrrrr…

Wake me up when my house is clean, my kids are well, the TV is fixed and Christmas is OVER.

The Grinch

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