July 9, 2004 | About

I love how threatening to be even more pitiful than usual just draws the questions out of everyone. It doesn’t make me feel like a melodramatic attention-demanding freak at all. Really. Let’s get to it before I think about that for too long, mkay?

Genuine asks, how can he keep one sibling from killing the other, or–perhaps more importantly–him from killing them both?

Thanks for asking, Gen! I love when people give me parenting advice, and so will seize any oppotunity to dispense some, myself. Preferrably of the sort that makes me look like a cross between Carol Brady and Mother Theresa, and makes the questioner feel like primordial pond scum who foolishly reproduced through mitosis while thinking about… ummm… nothing. On account of being single-celled. (Fiction. I hope.)

My kids have a couple of years on yours, but what I have found to be true is that no matter how badly they are nudging and annoying each other, they prefer being together to being apart. A simple “if you cannot play nicely together you will be separated” is often enough to head off trouble around here. When it isn’t, they play alone in their rooms for a bit, and whine and cry about how they want to play together. The following reunion usually goes more smoothly. (And if that doesn’t work, that’s why God invented DVDs.) As for you? Take a deep breath, walk away, count to 10; do whatever you need to do to remember that someday you will look back on these frustrations with fondness. (Fact.)

Zoot wants to hear about my most embarassing moment, but there are soooooo many to choose from!

Well, my neighbor came over while we were playing outside last week, and we sat and chatted, and after a while I asked how her husband was doing because I hadn’t seen him in a while. She said I hadn’t seen him because they were getting divorced and he moved out several months ago. Oops. Or there was the time in college (when I lived in a curfewed dorm) when my roommate and I had the munchies really badly (because… ummmm… cuz we were just hungry. yeah.) and the only vending machines were in another building, so we ran across campus, after-hours, in our pajamas, in search of food… and were caught on our way back through our window, still laughing our asses off. Bummer. How about the time when I was still working as an engineer, when Chickadee was a baby, and a coworker opened up my closed office door–thinking I was out to lunch, and wanting to leave some papers on my desk–only to behold me sitting at my desk, eating a sandwich, with my double-electric pump slurping away as it jutted out from my bra? Ah, memories. (I will leave it as an exercise for the reader to determine the truth of the preceeding.)

Zoot also wants to hear about my dream date. Egads.

Oh, it involves windswept strolls on the beach, diamonds and fast cars, and a Fabio look-alike who adores me and spends endless gobs of money on me. (*gag*)

I haven’t been on many actual “dates.” Part of that is because I got married too damn young, and part of that is the whole college/grad school “hanging out” mentality where no one has any money, anyway. My ideals involve the person, not the setting. And apparently those ideals for the person–which I’d thought were reasonable before I realized that most people are selfish idiots–are such that I’m about as likely to get that dream date as I am to meet Santa Claus. Know a nice single guy with a great sense of a humor who loves kids and bright but neurotic women? Send him my way, and I’ll tell ya all about our date! (I’m serious. Send him now. No, don’t. Crap.)

mc uncloaked from lurkdom long enough to ask how and/or when did I know I wanted kids.

Right about the time the contractions started, I knew…. (Fiction! Fiction! Be right back; I have to put more money in the kids’ therapy fund….)

As I’ve discussed on here before, I am the sort of masochist who always wanted kids, even as a child myself I was always enchanted with little ones. So the “how” was easy, for me. The “when” was a bit more complicated (both in deciding and because we faced fertility issues), but the criteria there included the obvious like being married, having enough money for diapers, etc. For those who haven’t always desired offspring, I have no idea how you decide. I know folks who swear “there’s never a perfect time” and “once you do it you rise to the task” and that may be true, for some. On the other hand, I know people who truly believe themselves incapable of the sacrifices parenthood calls one to make, and I think that’s a worry worth heeding. One of my parents felt very deprived of, heck, I don’t even know what… something… due to the impact of us kids, and it colored (still does) our relationship. Kids know when they’re viewed as burdens. I may rant about my kids, sometimes, but I cannot imagine my life without them, and they are the highest calling I’ve yet to experience and I hope they always know that. (Fact. When did I turn into such a sap?)

Busy Mom wants to know the air-speed velocity of an unladen swallow…

… but she neglected to return and clarify which type of swallow she meant, so I’m going to have to demand that she bring me a shrubbery before I can answer.

Amy had a lot of fun with some wine last night and professed her love for me, wanting to know only if I loved her in return.

My dear, I love you as much as is possible without it becoming weird and scary and causing your husband to file a restraining order. (Fact.) Also I am thinking of moving to my own domain, and am seriously considering naming it Miralah.com. Just because I want to be cool like you. (Fiction. Well, the site name. I really do want to be as cool as you!)

Pam wants to know if I have any extra digits or extremities, and if so, are they creepy?

How did you know? I have a third nipple. It’s on top of my left foot, which came in handy when I fell asleep nursing in the rocking chair and dropped the baby on the floor. (Fiction. No need to call the cops.)

Sorry, nothing extra. I’m plenty creepy with just the requisite number of appendages. (Fact.)

Julia wants to know why I’m too chicken to consider lasik.

It’s very simple. I feel that if a surgery doesn’t result in the removal of actual organs, it’s not worth my time. (Fiction.)

It’s very simple. Lasik involves having your eyeball sliced open while you are awake. And there is huge chance of improved vision, but also a small chance of blindness. All in all, not my idea of a good time. (Fact. Ick.)

Lisa wants to know if I feel like I’m wasting my life on domestic chores and would I like to join her Lifewasters Anonymous support group?

Yes, and yes. Crap. That wasn’t very anonymous.

Mad wants to know if I would ever consider marrying again.

Welcome to Friday Facts and Fiction, Mad. I’m going to guess this is your first one, because someone asks me that almost every week. Not that it makes me feel like a lonely loser, or anything. No, really. It’s okay. I’m not crying, there’s something in my eye! (I’m sorry; it had to be done.)

Under the right circumstances (and no, I don’t know what those are, as they’ve yet to present themselves), yes, I would consider it. It seems very unlikely for the near future, though. (Fact.)

I love Debby, but she is a wiseass. She wants to know the true meaning of life.

Say it with me, everyone… 42. Suckah.

Jennifer asks three questions, but I’m skipping the book one since I’ve already answered that twice. So…

… how did I choose my children’s names?
Why, do you have a problem with me naming them Chickadee and Monkey? Well, do you?? (Oh, you figured out those aren’t their given names? Dang.)

I am crazy into the meanings of names. Perhaps because the traditional translation of Miriam is “bitter” (despite modern baby-naming books trying to soften it up by claiming it means “strong” or “stubborn”). Chickadee was conceived after years of infertility, one definite miscarriage and a couple of probable ones… and the same week my grandmother died. I am convinced my Grandma made ordering up my mini-me her first order of business in Heaven. I was determined to name her after my Grandma Rose. But we needed a middle name, too. On an infertility listserv I belonged to at the time, a long-time member popped in to announce the joyful news of having adopted a little girl, named a beautiful and unusual name I’d never heard before, but reportedly meaning “God has answered me.” I proposed this name to my then-husband, and it turned out that we both liked it so much, we used it for her first name (her middle name is Rose). It suits her, and I don’t think Grandma Rose minds a bit.

With Monkey, again we delved into the baby books and debated the various meanings. We quickly settled on a less-common name that means “he laughs.” (Never was a name more perfect; this boy has the most frequent and jubilant laugh of anyone I’ve ever known.) That left us to months of debating his middle name. The ex wanted Matthew, but both the chosen first name and our last name have two syllables, and–as I cautioned Genuine during the hot debates to name baby AJ–a repetitive syllable pattern (in this case, 2-2-2) often sounds weird. We finally negotiated down to using Matthias, which was “close enough” and solved my obsession with the syllable thing.

Both children also have initials that form words. We did that on purpose. We’re weird. (Fact.)

… what is the best part of my day?
Breakfast. Or lunch. Maybe dinner. Or any time I’m having a snack. (Fiction, honest.)

This is a tie between waking and bedtime. Monkey hops into bed and snuggles with me in the morning, and provided that he isn’t too starving hungry or carrying a load in his pull-up, this tends to be an awesome one-on-one time for us. Conversely, Chickadee is not a morning person, but often causes me to melt into a large puddle all over her room at bedtime with some random profundity. It’s easy to let the hustle and bustle of everyday get me caught up in enduring my life rather than enjoying it. Those precious “just being” moments with my kids bring me back to what’s important. (Fact.)

Regular Cinderella want to know if I’m pretty when I cry, which I think officially makes her weirder than me.

In the category of the-truth-is-stranger-than-fiction, I’ll go for full disclosure: When I cry, my normally hazel eyes glow electric green, my nose turns bright red, and my smattering of freckles are intensified on the background of whitest-white-mixed-with-angry-red-splotches. This may be why people ask me questions on Friday rather than risk me crying. It may also be why–when I caution the children “don’t do that unless you want to make me cry”–Chickadee shrieks with glee, “Do it! Cry! Mama looks crazy when she cries!”

Janet wants to know why lilacs smell so good.

That’s a great question. I can only guess their amazing scent is designed to offset any irritation generated by the incredible mess the petals tend to make.

Shiz asks why do people get sick when they travel, why did the dinosaurs die, and where is the hidden treasure?

Air is recirculated on airplanes and therefore if anyone on board has some germs, you’ll be breathing them; everyone knows the real reason dinosaurs became extinct; and if I had any idea where the treasure was I sure as heck wouldn’t be sitting here blogging when I should be on Monster finding myself a job. (Yeah, I know my answers are getting shorter. I’m getting hungry.) (Truth, kinda.)

Shelly wants to know why fools fall in love.

Because they’re fools. Duh.

Alrighty… thank you all for playing! For some reason, although I fed them just a few short hours ago, my children seem to think they need to eat again, so it’s time for me to go. I hope that you enjoyed this week’s installment as much as I did. And that you have all vowed never to shop at Excellent Purchase even though this morning I did manage to get the TV debacle somewhat straightened out.

June 18, 2004 | About

Welcome again to another edition of Friday Facts and Fiction, where I address your questions by telling the truth, lying pathologically, or sometimes both. This is not altogether different than my blog entries in general, but I do address your questions in some way…. Anyway. Onward!

Kym asks many things:
… how did my pits smell?
Well, I did remember to put deodorant on this morning, but it’s been a long day…. (Truth.)

… am I nervous about my surgery?
No. (Fiction.) Yes. (Fact.) Shut up.

… what am I most nervous about?
Hospital food. (Fiction.) Want it straight up? Dying. That’s my big full-out-uncontrolled-anxiety fear, though not a very realistic one I guess. It’s something I can’t help considering when undergoing something like this… not because it would be such a tragedy to me (I mean, I wouldn’t know, right?) but because the thought of my kids growing up without me (read: being raised by the ex) terrifies me. The more realistic fear is of being alone and miserable when I get out of the hospital. Most of the time I am fine with being single. Times like this? I feel very sorry for myself. (Truth; I’m pitiful.)

… whatever happend with my thoughts about going back to school? Where do I stand with that?
Already did it. I’m a lawyer now. (Fiction, though that really would’ve come in handy during the divorce….)

Kym was privvy to my Big Plan over the winter, when I decided to go back to school to become a radiologic technologist. The program is two years of intense study, followed by licensure and then, decent money, normal hours, and high employability. It all sounded good to me. Unfortunately, the only program in my state is over an hour away, I missed the deadline for 2004 and was told I was “welcome to apply for 2005,” and due to the way my post-divorce arrangements came out, waiting another year made it virtually impossible, financially. Now there are ways I could make it work (thanks, Dad), but I’m not sure I’m willing to wait three years for my new career. I’m exploring other avenues (not that any of them have led anywhere, yet, but who knows). And to be perfectly honest, there is a very indignant, snobby portion of my brain insisting “I already have plenty of degrees!” (Fact.)

Milady Zoot asks:
… did I remember deodorant?
Yep, see above. For all the good it did me. (Fact, ambiguous though it may be.)

… how long have I ever gone without wearing deodorant?
Once, I went for, like, 11 years! (Fact!!) But after that, puberty hit, and I’ve worn it every day since. (Gotcha.) I hope you enjoyed your hippy phase, but I have always been freakishly fastidious about personal hygiene, because I just find the alternative too scary. It’s one of the reasons I could never go on Survivor. By the third day I’d be a quivering heap, sobbing for antibacterial soap.

… what’s the last item of clothing I bought?
A red leather cat suit. Meow! (Fiction; I know you’re all stunned.) Okay, just in case you didn’t think I was pitiful from my answer to Kym, above, here’s your chance. I last bought… a package of white socks. Hanes. So, who wants to come clubbing with me? (Boring Fact.)

The ever-sex-crazed (what up with that, girl??) Debby wants to know:
… have I ever had sex in a car?
Could you be more specific… like, type of car, number of partners? (You know, my Dad hasn’t commented on here in a while. This sort of thing may be why.) Okay, sorry, nope. (Fact.)

… what’s my favorite kind of cereal?
Grape Nuts. (Fiction!! God, I want to vomit just typing it. Whose bright idea was it to market dirt-flavored gravel as food???) Hmmmm. Honestly I love most cereals. I’m Seinfeldian, that way. Oddly enough, one of my favorites right now is Grape Nut Os, which taste nothing like their predecessor. (Fact.)

… favorite holiday?
Don’t even feel like coming up with an interesting lie for this one. It’s Christmas, hands down. That’s what happens when a little Jewish girl grows up and converts, I guess. (Fact.)

… what KIND of deodorant do I use?
Teen Spirit, of course! (Fiction, but I have been waiting years to tell someone that!) I am currently using Arrid Total in “cool shower” scent. I switch between that and Secret Platinum Unscented depending on what’s on sale and what coupons I have. (Fact, and now you can be just like me, right down to the armpits! Yay!)

Dear Chewie asks:
… do I wear make-up much?
Only when I’m awake. (Fiction.) I have never been much for make-up. I wear it–lightly–for special occasions, only, and no matter how many Mary Kay parties I go to or how many times I’m roped into someone “doing my face,” I just can’t get into smearing all that stuff everywhere. I mean, yeah, sometimes I like the way it looks, but it seems like too much trouble. (Fact.)

… do I have many people to really trust?
Trust no one. Did you learn nothing from The X-Files, woman??? (Fiction.) I trust different people for different things, you know? But I am blessed right now. I may still be lousy at asking for help, but it is always there when I need it. (Fact.)

… do I ever wear a thong?
Nah. I never wear underwear. (Fiction! Can you imagine me with my clean issues, going commando? Frightening.) I do wear thongs when necessary to eliminate panty lines. I hate them. Everyone says, if you find the right one it’s nice and comfy; as a result, I now own about 8 different thongs, none of which I like. And why is it that the less fabric panties contain, the more expensive they are? Sorry, that’s another rant for another day…. (Fact.)

And last but certainly not least, Jennifer asks:
… do I have a crush on anyone?
Someone asked this on a previous Friday (Debby?), and I said no. Then I thought about it some more and decided that was pitiful, so I am now making a more concerted effort to find men to drool over. (Fact? Fiction? Even I’m not sure, on this one.)

… how long do I take to get ready to go somewhere?
About three hours. (Fiction!) Hmmm. From shower to out-the-door, including blow-drying my hair, about 50 minutes if I’m trying to look nice. But I don’t wash my hair every day, and I don’t shave my legs every day, and I’m rarely trying to look anything other than dressed, so there’s a lot of variables involved. My skills in this area aren’t put to the test very often, ya know. (Fact.)

… what do my kids call me?
Her Royal Majesty Queen Mother. (Fiction, but maybe I’ll work on that one….) They call me Mama, although if the whining gets bad it sounds more like “Moooooooooooooooooomaaaaaaaaeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!” Also, Chickadee is at that adorable age when she thinks it’s hilarious to call me by my first name in the stern voice of a librarian who just sucked some helium, so that’s an interesting twist on things…. (Fact. How do I make her stop??)

Okay, that concludes this week’s installment. As always, thanks for playing! Please don’t let any of the information herein bother you. Discontinue use if rash occurs.

June 11, 2004 | About

“Just the facts, ma’am.” (That seems cuter and less wordy than explaining that I am being dragged out on a girls’ night, shortly, and won’t have a ton of time to devote to this, and so will just be giving the facts today.)

Janet asks: Harry Potter or Frodo, and why?

Color me perplexed. Of course we know Janet is fond of elves, so the motivation for asking about these two is clear. But which one? For what, exactly? Sex? Companionship? High adventure? Freaky Friday-ish swapping? I’m not clear what the intent is, so I pondered this long and hard…

… and then I realized, whatever the specifics, Harry Potter wins every time, for me. I enjoy both stories, but I view Frodo as a more 2-dimensional character than Harry Potter, who I think has been given the benefit of better character development. (And, dude, who wants to either have or be hanging out with someone who has hairy feet?)

Lee wanted to know if my dream included me falling asleep while spitting watermelon seeds, though I doubt he intended his question to be used for this.

It didn’t. But that would’ve made it a less disturbing dream, I think, because then I would’ve just chalked it up to “stuff on my brain.”

Also in the “why in the world are you using my comment for this?” category, Michele wanted to know if I would mind hacking up another watermelon for her.

Um, no. As in, I would mind, and, I won’t do it for you or anyone else. My kitchen floor has been wiped down twice and mopped once, and it is still sticky and my OCD-ish self is having a great big freak out and recalling that this, people, is why the good Lord invented the melon baller! AAAARRRGGHHH! So, I love you… but NO.

Getting all kinds of serious on my ass is Kym, who asks: What do I see as my children’s three strengths and weaknesses each?

Funny; the end of school has brought about quite a few discussions on this very topic, so it’s actually been on my mind.

For the Chickadee:
Pro: she’s brilliant. Con: she knows it, and is easily frustrated when she can’t master something immediately.
Pro: she’s incredibly empathetic. Con: she has trouble dealing with her feelings, and feels everything to the max, big or little.
Pro: she can often figure out how to best get what she wants. Con: she is often manipulative.

For Mr. Monkey:
Pro: he’s very easy-going and basically happy. Con: on the rare occasions when he is affronted, he tends to react explosively (truly his father’s son, in that way).
Pro: he finds joy in the weirdest little things. Con: once something has made him happy, he expects it to remain static forever, and seems truly bewildered when it doesn’t!
Pro: he remembers everything! Con: he remembers everything! HA!

And there you have it… everything you never really wanted to know on a Friday. Thanks for the questions!

With any luck, I will have some very entertaining stories upon my return, as I believe I heard the word “karaoke” mentioned during the planning phase of this evening….

June 9, 2004 | About

For some reason this meme is bringing Dante’s Inferno to mind rather prominently, but I’m sure that’s a coincidence. Yeah.

Seen everywhere, but most recently at Mindy’s and Zoot’s and you know I wanna be just like them when I grow up.

LAYER ONE:

• Name: Miriam
• Birthdate: August 17, 1971 (gifts not required, but always appreciated)
• Birthplace: Ithaca, NY
• Current Location: Lost in New Hampshire
• Eye Color: Hazel
• Hair Color: Darkest brown, a color I used to hate but have since become much more fond of as I watch it retreating under grey!
• Height: 5′6″
• Righty or Lefty: Righty
• Zodiac Sign: Leo (power, Min!)

LAYER TWO:

• Your Heritage: Polish and Russian
• The shoes I wore today: Ummm… I’m barefoot… but I threw on some sandals that were by the door to take the kids to school.
• Your weakness: Bargains
• Your fears: not being able to protect my kids
• Your perfect pizza: Hawaiian
• Goal you’d like to achieve: Raising my kids to adulthood with only manageable scarring; figuring out what I want to be when I grow up (and doing it).

LAYER THREE:

• Your most overused phrase on AIM: “LOL!”
• Your first waking thoughts: “Can I go back to sleep?”
• Your best physical feature: My eyes
• Your most missed memory: Going out for slightly-longer-than-recommended lunches with Andrea at IBM.

LAYER FOUR:

• Pepsi or Coke: I like to straddle the fence sometimes… Diet Coke with Lime, or Pepsi One.
• McDonald’s or Burger King: McD’s
• Single or group dates: Dates?? Um, single, as long as I’m fantasizing.
• Adidas or Nike: Nike.
• Lipton Ice Tea or Nestea: Ewwwwwww.
• Chocolate or vanilla: Chocolate
• Cappuccino or coffee: Yes, please.

LAYER FIVE:

• Smoke: No
• Cuss: Only when I’m angry. Or frustrated. Or hanging with the girls. Or… oh shut UP.
• Sing: Indeed
• Take a shower every day: Absolutely
• Do you think you’ve been in love: Yep. It’s great for a little while and then sucks for a long time. Not sure I recommend it.
• Want to go to college: Again? Geez, how many degrees does a person need?
• Liked high school: Nooooooooooooooooo!
• Want to get married: Uhhh… I want to win the lottery, but it doesn’t mean I’m going to….
• Believe in yourself: Where it counts, absolutely.
• Get motion sickness: Ick, yes.
• Think you’re attractive: Physically? Um, no. (Not Quasimodo or anything, but nothing to write home about.)
• Think you’re a health freak: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! Sorry, what was the question?
• Get along with your parent(s): Taking the 5th on this one, for my own safety.
• Like thunderstorms: Yes!
• Play an instrument: Not any more… played cello for several years.

LAYER SIX: In the past month…

• Drank alcohol: Yes
• Smoked: No
• Done a drug: Do my migraine meds count?
• Made Out: *sniffle* No
• Gone on a date: No
• Gone to the mall: No, thank God.
• Eaten an entire box of Oreos: Not this month. Woohoo!
• Eaten sushi: Yummy, yes.
• Been on stage: No
• Been dumped: No
• Gone skating: No
• Made homemade cookies: Yesterday!
• Dyed your hair: I dyed Eileen’s hair, does that count?
• Stolen Anything: No

LAYER SEVEN: Ever…

• Played a game that required removal of clothing: Yep
• If so, was it mixed company: I’m sorry, do people do that not in mixed company??
• Been trashed or extremely intoxicated: Yep
• Been caught “doing something”: I’m not sure I’m getting exactly what this refers to, but I have a strict policy against being caught.
• Been called a tease: Only once, by a very stupid boy who had a very strange notion of a single kiss being an invitation to sex.
• Gotten beaten up: Nope
• Shoplifted: When I was about 5.
• Changed who you were to fit in: Would that work?

LAYER EIGHT:

• Age you hope to be married: Again? Ummm… when I’m smart enough to get it right. What age is that?
• Numbers and Names of Children: I have two kids, herein referred to as the Chickadee (6-yr-old girl) and the Monkey (4.5-yr-old boy).
• Describe your dream wedding: Uhhhh… one that results in a healthy, lasting marriage?
• How do you want to die: Never
• Where you want to go to college: I did my undergrad in the snow belt and grad school at Stanford… and if I’d known then what I know now, I would’ve done it ALL in Northern California. Ahhhh….
• What do you want to be when you grow up: Why does everyone keep asking me that?? Shut UP!
• What country would you most like to visit: Italy

LAYER NINE:

• Number of drugs taken illegally: Just 1, but I never inhaled. Or was that I never exhaled? I can’t remember.
• Number of people I could trust with my life: At least 5, probably more. Lucky me!
• Number of CDs that I own: Maybe 30. I just started allowing myself to buy frivolous things for myself (like music) just recently.
• Number of piercings: 3 in my left ear, 1 in my right, 1 in my navel. All but the standard 2 in the ears have closed.
• Number of tattoos: None, though I have often pondered one.
• Number of times my name has appeared in the newspaper: Oh geez, I have no idea. As if my hometown paper or our little local rag here will somehow catapult me into celebrity….
• Number of scars on my body: Hmmm. Too many.
• Number of things in my past that I regret: Also too many, though in my right mind I wouldn’t change a thing; they’re all part of who I am.

June 5, 2004 | About

(Shamelessly lifted from Zero Boss, who gives a pretty good genealogy of the thing if you feel the need to trace it back a ways….)

1. Do you try to look hot when you go to the grocery store just in case someone recognizes you from your blog?
Now that’s just silly. I try to look hot at the grocery store so I can get a date. (No, it’s never worked.)

2. Are the photos you post Photoshopped or otherwise altered?
My profile photo is cropped and decolorized. Cropped because it was a photo with my son, and for right now I’m not sharing pics of my kids, and decolorized because in my hyper-sensitive overcritical mind, black and white was more forgiving than color.

3. Do you like it when creeps or dorks email you?
Dorks, yeah baby! Creeps not so much.

4. Do you lie in your blog?
I prefer to call it creativity, though even that is used sparingly. What’s the point if I’m not gonna tell the truth?

5. Are you passive-aggressive in your blog?
Why be passive-aggressive when you can just be aggressive, I say.

6. Do you ever threaten to quit writing so people will tell you not to stop?
Uhhhhh no. I don’t think anyone would tell me not to stop!

7. Are you in therapy? If not, should you be? If so, is it helping?
Yes, and yes.

8. Do you delete mean comments? Do you fake nice ones?
I’ve never had to delete a comment (yet) although I probably would, if it came to that. And real women never fake it.

9. Have you ever rubbed one out while reading a blog? How about after?
I had to read Jay’s commentary to find out what this means. And, uh, EWWWWW! NO!

10. If your readers knew you in person, would they like you more or like you less?
They’d like me more. I whine less in real life (unless you are related to me).

11. Do you have a job?
Besides raising my kids…? Not at the moment. But come the end of summer, my parole’s up.

12. If someone offered you a decent salary to blog full-time without restrictions, would you do it?
In a heartbeat. Where can I find this sugardaddy person?

13. Which blogger do you want to meet in real life?
I am too lazy to link them all, but they can be found on my blogroll to the right: Kym, Mindy, Snowball, Zoot… oh heck… just about everyone I have linked. Though if I had to pick just one, it’d be Kym, because I’ve actually “known” her for years.

14. Which bloggers have you made out with?
This blogging thing is a little darker than I’d thought…. (And none.)

15. Do you usually act like you have more money or less money than you really have?
Less. I am perpetually broke in my tightwad mind, even when I’m really not.

16. Does your family read your blog?
Yes. I have since wondered if that was a wise choice, but it’s too late now.

17. How old is your blog?
Only about a month old.

18. Do you get more than 1000 page views per day? Do you care?
No, and no. But ask me again in a year….

19. Do you have another secret blog in which you write about being depressed, slutty, or a liar?
This is my secret blog….

20. Have you ever given another blogger money for his/her writing?
Nope.

21. Do you report the money you earn from your blog on your taxes?
Crap, I’m supposed to be making money doing this??

22. Is blogging narcissistic?
Of course.

23. Do you feel guilty when you don’t post for a long time?
Hasn’t happened yet, though I suspect if/when it does it will be more a matter of needing my own personal fix than caring what anyone else thinks.

24. Do you like John Mayer?
Who?

25. Do you have enemies?
Not that have successfully gotten to me.

26. Are you lonely?
Hell yes.

27. Why bother?
Why not?

June 4, 2004 | About

Not as rousing a turn-out as we had for the first one, (note to self: threaten to pout again, next time) but enough to make a post, for sure. So here we go… more facts and fiction from your hostess based on your questions!

Fraulein N asks: What’s a book, movie or TV show I’m embarrassed to admit I like?

I just loved Britney Spears in Crossroads!! (Fiction. Haven’t even seen it, nor will I, unless you’re holding a gun to the head of one of my kids.)

I can’t think of a book I’d be embarrassed to admit, as I tend to either love a book and evangelize about it or lose interest and never finish it. Ditto with movies. Now… ummmm… TV is a different story. I watch lots of schlock television. And I have no excuse. So here goes: When I was in high school, there was a show on PBS called Degrassi Junior High. It’s produced in Canada and was kind of the granddaddy of After School Specials meets canuck-90210. Lame really doesn’t begin to describe this thing. Anyway, during my first year of college I ended up doing a rather intensive program for treatment of teenage depression and drug use (just so we’re clear, I was in the former group), and one of our regular sessions was based on this show. Oooooooh it was great; all of us poking fun at the bad acting, the predictable storylines, the accents! It was torture.

This is not the show I’m confessing to liking, by the way. This is known as exposition; bear with me.

Well, I’ve recently come to find out that those brilliant Canadians never let this masterpiece actually die. After Degrassi Junior High, there was Degrassi High (duh), and most recently I’ve discovered that Noggin now shows the latest version, Degrassi: The Next Generation, in the evenings. I have been strangely compelled to watch this program. I don’t know if it’s nostalgia or just brain damage, but I think I’ve seen every episode. And I’d like to tell you that it’s far superior to the original, but that would be stretching the truth. By quite a lot. (Fact. Maybe I should check into some sort of support group? Degrassiholics Anonymous?)

Kira asks: Do I think I’ll date/marry again?

What are you talking about? I’m already married. To Brad Pitt. Bitch. (Fiction!!)

Well that’s the proverbial $64,000 question, isn’t it? I’m a very social person. Despite what you might find me saying on my down days, I figure it’s pretty much impossible that I will never date again. Never is a long time. So yeah, I’ll date. Get married again? Hmmmm. I dunno. I would like to, but I don’t know that it’s in the cards for me. I’m still a little too raw from the last couple of years’ events to consider a risk of that magnitude, again. (Truth.)

Also from Kira: What’s my favorite food to turn to when I’m in an unhealthy state of anxiety or fear?

Mustard. Perhaps you saw the picture of me at the Smackdown yesterday…? (Fiction, thank God.)

I’m afraid that in this way I am something of a typical girl. Gimme chocolate! Candybars, cookies, brownies, cake, whatever. As long as it’s chocolate, I’m happy. And it’s truly a wonder I’m not a much larger person. (Fact.)

Debby asks: What’s my favorite movie and book of all time?

Didn’t I already declare my love for Britney’s masterpiece, above? *snort*

Last week I said that my favorite book is “A Prayer for Owen Meany” by John Irving. If I have to pick just one favorite, that’s it. But give me a little time and latitude and I’ll generate a whole reading list. I devour books, and if I read something I like by an author I haven’t read before, I then go out and read everything else they’ve ever written. I’m weird that way.

Favorite movie… hmmmmm…. That’s much harder, because I don’t actually watch a lot of movies. The simplest answer is “The Princess Bride,” although the book is even better than the movie (that’s always the way, though). I’m also a sucker for “The Big Chill” and the first two Alien movies. (Truth.)

Debby also asks: Nightgown or jammies?

I sleep in the nude. In the shower. Upside-down. (Fiction.)

I was a strict jammies kinda gal for years and years. Recently I’ve leaned back in the nightgown direction, leaving me with a fairly even mix in my slumbertime apparel. (Truth, but I feel so ambiguous, now!)

Oliquig asks: What was my best vacation ever?

There are two (real) answers to this. In terms of the location, it’s definitely the week I spent in Maui. I really never knew perfect weather and gorgeous scenery like that even existed. Had I been there with someone other than my husband it would’ve been perfection. In terms of the company and/or my state of mind, it would have to be the weekend I spent camping in western Massachusetts last year. It was my first trip without my children that was not for a funeral or an educational reason… I got to see Garrison Keillor at Tanglewood… and I was newly in lurve with the prince who had not yet turned back into a toad. If I could bottle how I felt that weekend, I would be rich.

And what was the worst?

Okay, which is sadder: That the answer to this one is my honeymoon, or that I didn’t even have to think about it for a nanosecond to know that? (Truth.) The ex and I were young and stupid… I believe I may have touched on that previously… anyway… we were completely ripped off by the agency we used to book our honeymoon. It was so horrible–as in B-movie unbelievable, including no running water in what was supposedly a 4-star hotel–that we returned after just two or three days (in my ever-continuing attempts to block it out entirely, I can’t remember which is accurate). This would be a bad omen under the best of circumstances, but let’s just say that the rotten accommodations turned out to be the least of our problems. The ex suffered from… uuhhhhhhh… anxiety. Yeah. Extreme anxiety. That’s all I’m gonna say about that. (Unless he pisses me off again, in which case I may need to share more….)

And lastly, from our dear Oli: What’s the funniest thing my kids have said that I had to not laugh at because it was bad?

“Someone should impeach Bush’s ass.” (Kidding, but wouldn’t you all be envious if my kids were that astute?)

I can’t think of a specific one (and someday if you have kids, Oli, you’ll understand the mental atrophy that comes with raising them), but I have to say that it is always adorable to hear a toddler swear, and even moreso if he/she chooses a phrase that makes it crystal clear that these words are from your very own mouth. I mean, sure, there’s that second of utter horror, but a teeny little voice saying “Oh, dammit aww” or worse is always funny.

And some of the things the kids say to each other slays me. (Michele did a great entry on this last month.) Yeah, I do tell them it’s not appropriate to threaten to poop on each other, or step on each other’s eyeballs, etc. It wasn’t an issue of speech, but I will always have a very clear memory of the first time my very patient Monkey had had his fill of his big sister’s manhandling and hauled off and hit her. I had to leave the room because she was howling with indignation and I didn’t want her to see me laughing. (Truth)

Chewie apparently came along after I finished this week’s post, then got very upset that I was “ignoring” her… so I’m editing just for her! (MWAH!) She asks, re: my 100 Things list: Aliens??

Ummmmm… yeah. I don’t really have any details… never met any, myself. I just think it would be pretty narcissistic for us to assume we’re the only intelligent beings in all of creation. I don’t think there are any sentient beings here in our galaxy that we’re just sort of missed, or anything, but yeah… I think they’re out there. (Truth, though I may be wrong; it’s what I think.)

And also from Chewie: What sort of “ookey spookey” stuff has happened to me that I believe in the paranormal?

Call my hotline to find out! It’s only $4.99/minute! (False, although if I’m unemployed for much longer, I’ll consider it….)

1) I had a friend in high school who got “after images” from rooms based on what had happened there before, and there were places that freaked him right out. After some digging, we discovered that one of the places that skeeved him out so bad (he was never even willing to tell me what exactly he saw there) had been the site of a gruesome murder.

2) I met a woman in college who knew things about me that there’s simply no way she could’ve known (I had told no one), and she clearly didn’t want to know them, either… but said it’s happened to her that way her entire life.

3) Because of 1 and 2, I believe in people having of a variety of 6th sense abilities… although I also believe that people who are truly gifted in this way almost always wish they weren’t, and don’t advertise it. So I’m skeptical of “professional” psychics and whatnot, but I do think the real deal exists.

4) My grandmother haunted her home after she died, and in particular hassled my mother. Yes, I believe it.

5) I’ve stayed at a haunted inn. Didn’t see anything weird, myself, but heard enough of the stories and believe the owners to buy it.

6) I used to study this stuff when I was a kid/young adult, and basically concluded there’s too many things left unexplained for it all to be explainable without a little spooky ooky, y’know?

7) I am otherwise a very facts-oriented person.

Going once… going twice… aaaaand… that concludes this week’s installment of Friday Facts and Fiction. Thanks to everyone who played!

May 28, 2004 | About

Awesome; you’re game for this! Let’s see if it’s any fun.

Julia asks: What’s my ideal job? Where would it be and what would I be doing?

I’ve always wanted to be a taxidermist. In Alaska. Something about all that time with dead animals in a place where this isn’t any sunshine for half the year…. (Fiction!)

I’m not sure I know what my “ideal” is, otherwise I might actually be working now (and working towards something). If I get to assume in my fantasy that I no longer have a short attention span, then by all means I’ll take being a Famous Novelist for Gobs O’ Cash please, Alex. I also think I might enjoy being a Personal Shopper, but I suspect that after a while I’d want to kill all the people I’d have to work for. As for the where… I love the heat, hate the snow, hate humidity. If money and friends/family were no object, I’d be in Arizona or New Mexico in a heartbeat. (Fact.)

Michele asks: Okay Mir, will you give us the dirt on your divorce??

The story is short and simple: He decided to become a she, she now leads a life of intrigue as a pole dancer at an elite Boston transgender bar, and we are still good friends and she sometimes helps me with my hair. (FICTION!!)

The story is long and complicated, and any holding back has less to do with my not wanting to share than with it just being, well, very long. Here’s the shortest version I can manage: I was looking for “mate” material (as many of my previous paramours were not) and kind of talked myself into this nice, stable, responsible guy who in many ways was really not my type. He was painfully shy, had never dated (when we met he was 25), and was looking for anyone, I think. We both wanted kids; lots of kids. We married (too soon and too young), we went through infertility, miscarriage, and eventually, arrived at parenthood. At which point, whatever little spousal relationship we’d built up was completely thrown over in favor of Being Parents To The Almighty Children. The ex became involved in a start-up company and his life reduced to work, the kids, and his family. Oh, did you think his family was me and the kids?? Silly! His family is his parents and siblings. I never made it past second-class citizenship, I’m afraid. Anyway, his dad was dying of skin cancer, and we spent every “vacation” with his family our entire marriage (nearly 10 years); before his dad fell ill, during, and after.

Two years before we split, his dad died. According to the ex, this was “the first bad thing” that had ever happened to him. (Apparently having our dead offspring scraped out of me was no big deal.) Ex fell into a deep depression from which he made little effort to emerge. It wasn’t long before he had some very scary, chronic health issues… all of which turned out to be psychosomatic illness from the depression. The final straw was when he lost his job and completely lost it. He wasn’t diagnosed and treated until he’d been in the hospital for his “mystery illness” several times and then confessed to a nurse that he was trying to think how he could kill himself and make it look like an accident so that the kids and I could have the insurance money. I basically had to take him to our local hospital’s psych ward and have him committed, during which time I found out that he had punched our then two-year-old in a fit of rage, then lied to me about it.

Every fiber of my being wanted it to be over right then. I was All Done.

But I stayed, for almost another year. He went to counselling. I went to counselling. We went to counselling. Our couples therapist was a raving lunatic who “sensed the delicate frame of mind” the ex was in and delighted in telling me I was too uptight about everything to make the ex feel like she was on his side. Her solution for everything was “You two just need to go out on a date and have some fun!” (Example of her brilliance: It was a recurring theme that the ex was cultivating a bizarre and sick co-dependence between himself and our daughter, and she had all but stopped eating unless allowed to sit on his lap and be hand-fed by him. I wanted this to stop. She told me I was too controlling. It took our daughter’s therapist phoning this lunatic to tell her, Yes, this NEEDS TO STOP RIGHT NOW for her to concede that perhaps he shouldn’t do it anymore.)

We ditched the couples therapist. We did some counselling with our pastor. Only, I am good friends with the pastor’s wife, and so I underhandedly swayed him my way, dontchaknow. He never told me I “wasn’t allowed” to get divorced, which was his responsibility, being a man of God and all! Are you getting the picture, yet?

As soon as he got a new job, I told him I wanted a trial separation. He kept saying “you don’t want a separation, you want a divorce, just say it!” No, I said, I needed some time apart if there was to be any hope of salvaging anything. He fought, he bullied, he spoke of how he’d been a model husband and I was just planning to rip his children away from him. Oooookay. We separated, the bullying got worse; I filed for divorce.

The divorce was long and ugly, with the only saving grace being that–although he made a lot of noise about it–he never fought me for custody because that whole nervous breakdown and subsequent lockdown in the psych ward thing meant he would never win, and even he had to see that.

Ya know, I could’ve skipped all the previous and summed it up in one sentence: At the tender age of 33, my ex suddenly discovered that life’s not fair and he’s never really recovered. (Truth, sadly.)

Snowball asks: What (besides my kids) gives my life the most meaning?

I have a small pet rock named Gunther who tells me what to do and say, and we will always be together! (Fiction.)

This may surprise, it may revolt, it may sound trite… but my faith journey is the most meaningful segment of my life aside from my children. I was raised a mostly-non-practicing Jew, joined a very extreme Christian sect in college, and after a while settled in as a Methodist. (Hint: should you wish to switch religions and still have your parents’ acceptance, try switching first to some bizarre and scary faction, so that when you turn to a more socially acceptable alternative your folks think that it’s really not so bad.) I have travelled from an angry, “why me?”ish young person to the woman of faith that I am today, secure in knowing that I can handle whatever comes my way, and feeling–for the most part–very blessed. The particular church I’m with right now (I have moved around a lot, so this is the longest I’ve been in one place for a while) has been a church home for me like no other. I sing in the choir (and I had forgotten how I love to sing!), I’m a commissioned Stephen Minister, and I think I’m here for a reason. Despite my potty-mouth and overall obnoxious tendencies, I do love calling the Christian Community my home. Plus, many of the blue-haired old ladies get a kick out of me. It’s a win-win thing. (Fact.)

Zoot asks: If you could only eat ONE food for the rest of your life, regardless of nutrition, what would it be?

Pigs feet. (Fiction!! *gag*)

Just one??? I want to pick chocolate, but too much sugar makes me wacky (yes, wackier than usual… shut UP). I think avocados. You know what a guacamole whore I am. Yummy. (Fact.)

Zuska (hi Zus!! *waving*) asks: What toenail color is suitable for sassy Summer wear for both mother and daughter this season?

Black. (Fiction, fiction… don’t hit me.)

Well ya know, Those People (I don’t know who they are, exactly, but they seem to wield quite a bit of power) say that pale pink is this season’s new black. Oooooooookay. Ignoring the obvious–which is that pale pink ain’t gonna be black no matter how far you put your nose in the air, honey–this is a good solution if you happen to like pale pink, but not so much if you, you know, don’t. I suggest a trip to your local Gap store, as all of my toenail polishes came from the Gap outlet last season. My Chickadee and I both favor “chrome blue” right now, which is a wild and funky and fun silvery blue (for the toes; on fingers it would just be scary, I think) and matches nearly everything. Plus it is Not Pink, which is handy when the resident Monkey asks to have his toes done as well. (Fact.)

Jennifer asks:
Favorite book? “A Prayer for Owen Meany” by John Irving.
Best childhood memory? When I was 8 we headed to Florida for our yearly jaunt to the grandparents, and my parents surprised me and my brother with a detour to Disneyworld for several days. Our family tended to put the DYS in dysfunctional but I remember that trip as being non-stop fun.
Favorite smell? Outdoors, right after it rains, mmmmmmm.
Secret crush? I don’t think I have one. I’m not quite through the whole men-are-useless thing, yet.
(Okay, those are all facts ‘cept one. But I’m not telling which one.)

Debby asks: If I could be any movie star, who would I be?

Elmo. (Fiction, mostly… he seems to lead a pretty good life, though.)

Glenn Close. She’s an amazing actress who has succeeded in spite of being fairly normal-looking and not a Barbie doll clone. And although she’s enjoyed critical acclaim, she stays out of the limelight and appears to lead a fairly normal life. (Fact.)

Also from Debby: What’s my dream vacation?

Is it ice hiking or snorkelling somewhere tropical? If you don’t know the answer, you haven’t been reading very carefully.

Hula Dula has wayyyyyy too many questions, yo. But I’ll try.
Naked wrestling really isn’t allowed? Well naturally I discourage it. If I don’t get to, why should they??
Was I already working or did I go back to work because of the divorce? I “retired” from software engineering when we made our last move and the ex was busy co-founding a new company. I’d worked full-time before the kids came and part-time from the Chickadee’s birth. Then we came here, the kids went to preschool and I worked on some freelance writing. I had some success, but the whole husband-mysteriously-ill-and-also-by-the-way-insane thing cropped up pretty quickly, and I quit writing. When it became clear that we were headed towards divorce, I took an extremely sucky job with a local mortgage brokering company which–to its credit–allowed me very flexible hours so that I didn’t have to change the kids’ schedules around. I was laid off at the end of last year (seemed tragic at the time; was really a blessing in disguise because that place was chewing up my soul).
Ever streaked in public? Yes.
Most embarrassing moment? I know a couple at church who used to be in the choir. There are a few of us in the choir who are real wiseasses, and this couple could cut up with the best of them. It was a running joke with the husband that upon arrival for rehearsal, it was time to set cell phones to “pleasure” mode so as not to be disruptive. (Was it less disruptive when his phone rang and we all shrieked “He’s VIBRATING!”? I think not.) I think we sustained this joke partially because of how horrified many of the more senior choir members were about it. Anyway, they left the choir (but not the church) and started attending a different service than the one I go to, so I didn’t run into them for a long time. Came face-to-face with the husband one day, and this pops out of my mouth: “Gosh I miss seeing you at choir! I think of you every time I set my phone to pleasure mode!” OH. MY. GOD. (Next sentence out of my mouth: “Could we please pretend I didn’t just say that?”)
(I offer you the same deal as Jennifer: Those are all facts ‘cept one. But I’m not telling which one.)

I know I said I’d answer anything, and do it this afternoon. But I started on this in the morning because this cold is still trying to kill me. Jilbur, I love your idea. I’m going to go take a lot of cold medicine and go back to bed, and will try to come up with something brilliant for you later today.

May 13, 2004 | About

My friend Marcey came to this startling revelation the other day while we were discussing the fact that although we hold six university degrees between the two of us, neither of us has any practical household skills (plumbing, electrical, etc.). Marcey, however, is gainfully employed… whereas I have fallen into that large crack in the economy reserved for Imperfect Engineers. There are many things that can render an engineer imperfect in today’s market; in my case, I stepped off onto the “Mommy Track” and wiping noses and changing diapers full-time for several years has apparently dragged down my IQ by 40 points or more. At least this is what I surmise from my complete and utter failure to solicit any interest in my resume.

But hey; I’m flexible. I’m willing to train. I’m open to doing something else. I’ve applied for a broad range of positions, and the bottom line is always one of two: 1) You’ve been out of the field too long for us to believe you still know how to be productive in a way that doesn’t result in more human beings or 2) You are overqualified for this crappy job and even though you are a single parent with a mortgage payment and would happily give even this job your all, we don’t want to talk to you because there are things on your resume that we don’t even understand, therefore it would be dangerous to let you work here.

I’m sure my parents are very pleased that the thousands of dollars they spent on my education have brought me to this point. I know I am.

I’ve spent a good deal of time over the last year wallowing about my career plight (among other things). But that’s over now. (Probably. Maybe. Well, this week, for sure.) I’m working on a whole new strategy to get me in a more forward-thinking place, as I’m often guilty of the woulda-coulda-shouldas. This blog is part of it; perhaps it will give me some accountability I need to keep from slipping back into old (bad) habits.

So as regards the career plans: Summer Vacation. School is out in less than a month and the kids and I are taking the Summer off. Why should they be the only ones who get vacation?? I need a break from surfing Monster for hours, and wracking my brain to compose enticing-yet-witty-yet-serious cover letters for jobs I either will never get or don’t really want. I need a break from trying to figure out what I want and need out of life aside from being a mom and how I can make that happen while paying a daycare bill that exceeds my mortage payment.

And let’s face it… the world kinda blew up for me and the kids this last year. I am ashamed to admit that I have sarcastically referred to my ex as “Fun Daddy” so often that my youngest actually calls him that, now. (Oops.) I want a shot at being Fun Mama. I want to build sandcastles and go on nature walks and swing on the swings and not have to race to school in the morning, not be distracted and stressed out and constantly trying to plan for that job that might show up but never does. Sure, I’m going to have to figure it out eventually… but not this Summer. This Summer, I am going to play with my kids. And enjoy it. So there. I’m pretty sure they’re just as impressed with my degrees and resume as everyone else.

So if you need me in late June, or July, or August, my useless over-educated ass will be at the beach… with no regrets.