We've been having huge problems with our broadband service, lately, possibly because all cable companies are run by soul-sucking incompetents, or possibly because my personal electro-magnetic field has thus far managed to disrupt my internet service, on occasion, everywhere I have ever lived. It matters not, I suppose. And so there have been countless calls to Charter to report the agonizing slowness of our connection speed, and all of the fabulously unrelated questions we get asked when we make those calls. Because, you know, whether or not I have a lot of MUSIC ON MY COMPUTER, that would...
No, really. I may have made it up just now (what, I'm not allowed to do that?), but EMBRACE IT. Today's the day to bitch and moan about things irritating you, and you get to feel just a little more superior about it because saying that something is STUCK IN YOUR CRAW is very satisfying, and somehow more justified-sounding than THESE PEOPLE ARE PISSING ME OFF. It's good for the soul. I swear. Also, studies show it's good to shrug off petty annoyances and even major worries, because you'll stay healthier when you're not aggravated. But other studies (mine; very scientific they are, too, with...
Once upon a time, your life was perfect. Ideal! You lived in a nice house with an intact nuclear family. Everything was flowers and rainbows and sunshine, and no one ever yelled, and the food was always exactly what you wanted, and you never did anything wrong because everything was exactly the way you liked it. (Well, you were both under 5, back then. I'm SURE it's not that your memory is hazy or wholly manufactured; it was really JUST LIKE THAT. Obviously.) Then, of course, everything went wrong. Your parents got divorced and life went to hell, because now nothing was perfect anymore and...
... until somebody ruptures an eardrum! (What, your family doesn't have that rule?) Oh, I kid. No one has a ruptured eardrum. I just WISH I had a ruptured eardrum. So, um, remember that cold I had? My cold that was getting better? My cold that suddenly sensed I was over a thousand miles from home and decided to morph into FORM OF: EAR WEASEL and commence throbbing and itching and generally making me wish for death? Yeah, that cold. I hate that cold. Why yes, I DO believe that cold knows I'm away from home and also, you know, not generally a fan of the sensation of a creature trying to nibble...
Oh, the joy of a long weekend! The sleeping in! The holiday food! The family togetherness! The quiet implosion when you attempt to return to your previous schedule! [And hey, speaking of schedules, I realized yesterday that it had been over a week since my MRI adventure and I hadn't heard a thing, so I called my doctor to inquire. They informed me that they haven't received the report, yet, but will call when they do. Fine. I was almost content to assume "no news is good news" from that, buuuuuut then in the mail I got an official-looking letter letting me know that my mammogram yielded...
Recent events have turned me into a not altogether pleasant person. I am worried sick about Monkey; there is a story forthcoming about The House That Will Not Sell that sort of makes me want to punch myself in the face because, honestly, there should be a limit to the number of times a person can whine about such things, but mostly I want to punch my realtor in the face (hint: he is "just as frustrated" as I am about the current situation, he likes to assure me); work is a little stressful right now (ha! ha! just a little!); and next week I have to go have an MRI because I DON'T HAVE ENOUGH...
I am trying. I am trying to see and appreciate the good in the folks who are TRYING to help my child despite various limitations, be they the constraints of school policy, understaffing, or their own preconceived notions. Or their own faulty memories. So let's get this right out of the way up front: I love Monkey's teacher. I do. She's a veteran and she has gone out of her way to to do certain things for him even when the school administration has dragged their feet, and despite the occasional interesting spelling (this week's feature: candycorn! all one word!) I think she's pretty good at...
I love how you all enjoy my discussion of all the wonderful new wildlife here in the south. And by "enjoy" I mean "squeal like little girls." I feel you, I do. I don't like it either. And yesterday as I was reading the comments about our velvet ant sighting, I said to myself, "Self, that is surely the strangest bug you are going to see here in Georgia." Ha! Well, pride goeth before a fall. And denial goeth before more weird bugs. Shortly thereafter, I had the dubious pleasure of sighting something actually much weirder (and LARGER), though it was thankfully in someone else's house, so I plan...
No, you didn't miss anything. This is a two-part story (see? tale of TWO cars?), but I'm not ready to tell you part 1, just yet. Part 1 cannot be told without flames shooting out of my eyeballs and veins bulging in my neck. Part 1 is the story of why---nearly eight weeks after moving---I still do not have a car of my own. Part 1 should come first, I'll grant you that, but, um, too bad. This is part 2. This is about Otto's car. So I moved down here, carless, and Otto and I were drunk on love and possibly cheap beer, and we said that me not having a car would be NO PROBLEM for a little while,...
