Back at it, again, but this semester looks as if it won't be as stressing. I hope to soon post something interesting for a change.
Showing posts with label personal responsibility. Show all posts
Showing posts with label personal responsibility. Show all posts
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
Here We Go Again...
Back at it, again, but this semester looks as if it won't be as stressing. I hope to soon post something interesting for a change.
Sunday, August 07, 2011
I Can Breathe Again!
Okee-dokee. I won't be doing that again. I'm thrilled it's over and I'm glad to have five courses out of the way in 2.5 months but it was brutal. I was cranky and irritable and Baby Kitty thinks that I don't love him.
Two more (less stressful, I think) semesters and I'll be completely done.
In the spirit of fun and lighter spirits, I'll share a funny I read a week or so ago:
A big moron and a little moron were walking along a
cliff. The big moron fell off. Why didn't the other one?
Cause he was a little more on.
Morons, unite!
Wednesday, June 01, 2011
In the News...
It is entirely possible that I have multiple personalities and one of them is an adolescent boy. Bathroom humor and penis jokes? Count me in!
That's your warning. If you're already feeling uncomfortable, it's probably best to stop reading now.
When politicians find themselves in the midst of a potential scandal, they have hard choices to make. Tell the truth? Aw, c'mon now. That's really the last resort, right? Claim no knowledge! Lie! Distract! Admit it but claim sex addiction!
In case you've missed it, Representative Anthony Weiner has found himself smack dab in the middle of a scandal. Rep. Weiner's Twitter followers were surprised by the picture that was sent from his account. The picture was of underwear. With a man inside. An aroused man.
Weiner claims that both his Twitter and Yfrog accounts were hacked. However, today Weiner says that he
"can't say with certitude" that it isn't a picture of him. Hmmm.
There's all kinds of reporting being done out there on this. Bloggers kept the story going when the media seemed to be uninterested. Eh. Today, liberal and conservative reporters are all asking questions. I'm not a reporter. Go to your favorite news site if you'd like to read more. This is not meant to be a news article or a commentary on politics or even a statement on liberal/conservative differences.
I like bathroom humor and penis jokes. A couple of the funniest things I've seen since this began:
Anthony Weiner to Hire Private Dick to Investigate Twitter Hacking. Dick Tracy and Shaft Likely Candidates
Can't we all just get a schlong?
"The only thing Anthony Weiner and the crotch picture had in common is that they both lean hard left." (I think this is attributable to Jon Stewart; I don't know who is responsible on the others.)
And my personal favorite:
IM IN UR PANTZ TWEETIN PITCHERS OF UR JUNK - BRITEBART KAT
My advice?
Always.
Just Say No.
That's your warning. If you're already feeling uncomfortable, it's probably best to stop reading now.
When politicians find themselves in the midst of a potential scandal, they have hard choices to make. Tell the truth? Aw, c'mon now. That's really the last resort, right? Claim no knowledge! Lie! Distract! Admit it but claim sex addiction!
In case you've missed it, Representative Anthony Weiner has found himself smack dab in the middle of a scandal. Rep. Weiner's Twitter followers were surprised by the picture that was sent from his account. The picture was of underwear. With a man inside. An aroused man.
Weiner claims that both his Twitter and Yfrog accounts were hacked. However, today Weiner says that he
"can't say with certitude" that it isn't a picture of him. Hmmm.
There's all kinds of reporting being done out there on this. Bloggers kept the story going when the media seemed to be uninterested. Eh. Today, liberal and conservative reporters are all asking questions. I'm not a reporter. Go to your favorite news site if you'd like to read more. This is not meant to be a news article or a commentary on politics or even a statement on liberal/conservative differences.
I like bathroom humor and penis jokes. A couple of the funniest things I've seen since this began:
Anthony Weiner to Hire Private Dick to Investigate Twitter Hacking. Dick Tracy and Shaft Likely Candidates
Can't we all just get a schlong?
"The only thing Anthony Weiner and the crotch picture had in common is that they both lean hard left." (I think this is attributable to Jon Stewart; I don't know who is responsible on the others.)
And my personal favorite:
IM IN UR PANTZ TWEETIN PITCHERS OF UR JUNK - BRITEBART KAT
My advice?
Always.
Just Say No.
Saturday, July 31, 2010
Things My Parents Taught Me
I’m not sure if I was even born yet when the incident I’m about to relate to you occurred; however, I’ve heard about it for years and my parents claim it is true. A comment Becca left on my last post made me realize it might make for an interesting blog story and I’ve received permission from my parents to post it.
My parents were in their early 20s and hadn’t been married long. Mom had given up the security of her family and home near Baltimore to move to El Paso, TX where my dad was stationed at Ft. Bliss. Dad had gone out with his Army buddies for an evening of cultural enrichment in the lovely border town of Juarez.
Many hours later, his buddies poured him out of the car onto the front lawn of our quarters. As he crawled to the front door, no doubt clutching the sparse grass firmly to keep from falling off the earth, I’m sure he was considering himself quite the party animal.
The next morning was a completely different story. He woke up with a marching band practicing maneuvers in his head and a sneaking suspicion that a cat had shat in his mouth.
I need to explain something here. My mother is a kind, caring, lovely woman. She’s volunteered for the Red Cross, Meals on Wheels, Hospice, and a number of care and compassion groups in her church. She is a good woman.
When Dad woke up groaning late the next morning, his darling bride had just walked into the room to check on him. She leaned over him, lovingly laid her hands on his shoulders, and quietly whispered, “Oh, honey. Do you have a hangover?”
“Yes,” he whimpered.
“GOOD!” she yelled, as she shook the daylights out of him.
I don’t know if my dad ever had another hangover. I do know that he’s never complained about one.
Mom and Dad will be celebrating forty-five years of wedded bliss this August. They’ve had good times and bad times and, for the most part, been fair with each other.
What this story illustrates is one of the valuable lessons about personal responsibility that my parents taught me: If you knowingly do something that causes you pain, you lose your right to complain about it.
I won’t run down the list of my flaws and virtues but I have a fair amount of each. I’ve claimed for a number of years that I am both the very best and the very worst of my parents.
I’m good with that.
My parents were in their early 20s and hadn’t been married long. Mom had given up the security of her family and home near Baltimore to move to El Paso, TX where my dad was stationed at Ft. Bliss. Dad had gone out with his Army buddies for an evening of cultural enrichment in the lovely border town of Juarez.
Many hours later, his buddies poured him out of the car onto the front lawn of our quarters. As he crawled to the front door, no doubt clutching the sparse grass firmly to keep from falling off the earth, I’m sure he was considering himself quite the party animal.
The next morning was a completely different story. He woke up with a marching band practicing maneuvers in his head and a sneaking suspicion that a cat had shat in his mouth.
I need to explain something here. My mother is a kind, caring, lovely woman. She’s volunteered for the Red Cross, Meals on Wheels, Hospice, and a number of care and compassion groups in her church. She is a good woman.
When Dad woke up groaning late the next morning, his darling bride had just walked into the room to check on him. She leaned over him, lovingly laid her hands on his shoulders, and quietly whispered, “Oh, honey. Do you have a hangover?”
“Yes,” he whimpered.
“GOOD!” she yelled, as she shook the daylights out of him.
I don’t know if my dad ever had another hangover. I do know that he’s never complained about one.
Mom and Dad will be celebrating forty-five years of wedded bliss this August. They’ve had good times and bad times and, for the most part, been fair with each other.
What this story illustrates is one of the valuable lessons about personal responsibility that my parents taught me: If you knowingly do something that causes you pain, you lose your right to complain about it.
I won’t run down the list of my flaws and virtues but I have a fair amount of each. I’ve claimed for a number of years that I am both the very best and the very worst of my parents.
I’m good with that.
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Atlas Shrugged
I want to post more. I'm strangled by my work obligations. However, I had to let you know...
Atlas Shrugged is being made into a movie. I'm not Jewish but I just might plotz.
Reading this book is going to take time out of your life. It's a fucking brick. It is the most amazing book I've ever read. It's better than Erica Jong's Fear of Flying. It's better than George Orwell's 1984.
READ THIS BOOK.
It's important. It's prophetic. IT.IS.REAL.
I know... I don't post much these days. For that, I apologize. I'm busy. Fifty to sixty hour work weeks combined with school (eek! I'm an old student!) and then add home improvement projects... Ack. I'm overwhelmed.
READ THIS BOOK.
I just hope the movie does it justice.
Be a producer. Please don't be a looter.
READ THE BOOK!
(obnoxious enough? I can do more!)
Atlas Shrugged is being made into a movie. I'm not Jewish but I just might plotz.
Reading this book is going to take time out of your life. It's a fucking brick. It is the most amazing book I've ever read. It's better than Erica Jong's Fear of Flying. It's better than George Orwell's 1984.
READ THIS BOOK.
It's important. It's prophetic. IT.IS.REAL.
I know... I don't post much these days. For that, I apologize. I'm busy. Fifty to sixty hour work weeks combined with school (eek! I'm an old student!) and then add home improvement projects... Ack. I'm overwhelmed.
READ THIS BOOK.
I just hope the movie does it justice.
Be a producer. Please don't be a looter.
READ THE BOOK!
(obnoxious enough? I can do more!)
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Arrggh!!!
I hate to post this now because it will push down the post I did about Jane's Divine Inspiration but since this is for her - and for me - it seems like it might be okay.
Dar Williams
This Is Not The House That Pain Built
My house is hard to find, but I'll give you directions,
You can visit sometime, down where all that I built surrounds me
Just make sure your car's got good shocks
There's steep hills, there's potholes, there's rocks
I work in the garden, my son plays around me
Close the gate behind you, there's a horse that can't get out
I will see you first, is that all right
And can you remember, can you remember
This is not the house that pain built
This is not the house that pain built
I was drowning in something, I jumped in the rift
And you knew me back then, when I spat on my gift, but no
It's tough and it's tiring when you go it alone
I learned about wiring, I learned about stone
The building is done but the work's never through
And I won't give up, no how, it reminds me of who I am and where I am now
I remember myself, that's the work that I do
On a spring night when the snow is melting
You'll see two sets of footprints walking
Look at all the stars, and turn around, and walk home,
Slowly walk home.
This is not the house that pain built
That is not a house that pain built
My friends all think that I holed up and hid
But I tell them I didn't, you know I don't think I did, no.
And this is where I let my pain go
This is where I let my pain go
This is where the footprints dance in the snow
I've run my ooh-ick-trojan-pop-up-virus-dealio and it didn't yell at me but visit this link at your own risk if you'd like to hear the song.
Dar Williams
This Is Not The House That Pain Built
My house is hard to find, but I'll give you directions,
You can visit sometime, down where all that I built surrounds me
Just make sure your car's got good shocks
There's steep hills, there's potholes, there's rocks
I work in the garden, my son plays around me
Close the gate behind you, there's a horse that can't get out
I will see you first, is that all right
And can you remember, can you remember
This is not the house that pain built
This is not the house that pain built
I was drowning in something, I jumped in the rift
And you knew me back then, when I spat on my gift, but no
It's tough and it's tiring when you go it alone
I learned about wiring, I learned about stone
The building is done but the work's never through
And I won't give up, no how, it reminds me of who I am and where I am now
I remember myself, that's the work that I do
On a spring night when the snow is melting
You'll see two sets of footprints walking
Look at all the stars, and turn around, and walk home,
Slowly walk home.
This is not the house that pain built
That is not a house that pain built
My friends all think that I holed up and hid
But I tell them I didn't, you know I don't think I did, no.
And this is where I let my pain go
This is where I let my pain go
This is where the footprints dance in the snow
I've run my ooh-ick-trojan-pop-up-virus-dealio and it didn't yell at me but visit this link at your own risk if you'd like to hear the song.
Inspiration
There are certain people who inspire me. Oftentimes, they are people I’ve never met: writers/bloggers, activists, politicians (rarely, but still). I’m also inspired by people I know: coworkers, family, and friends. Very recently, inspiration came from a blogger/writer who I also consider a friend.
Duchess Jane is that person.
She’s also known as Beth but she is and always will be royalty, in my opinion, so I love the “Duchess” moniker. I’d like to tell you why.
Jane writes about what is real. She writes about what is hard. She digs down deep into her soul, her heart, and her pain. She describes what she discovers in ways that evoke emotion – strong, life-changing emotion – and in ways that inspire those of us who don’t/can’t find that truthfulness in our writing.
Don’t get me wrong. It’s not that I don’t live truth. I do. I try really hard to always be honest with myself and my feelings. I try to not be false or dishonest in anything I do. Unfortunately, I sometimes find that I don’t write about my truth. The reasons for that vary but, usually, it’s associated with not wanting to hurt people. I worry that sharing my experience puts other peoples’ experiences out there for others to examine. I worry, even if I don’t name names, that people will assume they know who I’m discussing. That’s one of the dangers of non-anonymous writing. People who know me in real life read what I write. They will see themselves whether or not I’m writing about them.
I have been a coward.
Jane is not. (I tried, but can not find, the link to Jane's post about how people should not assume but should ask if a certain post is about them.)
Yesterday, Jane wrote about how Empires Weren't Built Here, Part 1. I read it today and, once again, I was in awe of her ability to yank feeling out of words. She talked about dying and what would be left. What would her last words be… out there in the ether on the Internet. Would it be something meaningful? Would people look at her last status update? Her last blog post? Her last Tweet? What if something tragic happened and she survived? Would people look at that and what she wrote?
She wrote about writing of experiences and whether she should chronicle those encounters. She wrote about her anxiousness concerning that. She wrote, “…would I succumb to this fear of being viewed as a pillager of my own tragedies and betrayer of my family, peddling their pain for pennies on the internet?”
I understood this all too well.
It seems so lame to say, “Me, too!” “I know!” “I feel that!” “Yes, yes, YES!”
I waited until my blog reader updated; thankfully, it was quickly. Empires Weren’t Built Here, Part 2 showed up soon after. This one was harder for me. I’m going to change the way I describe this. Writing is good but it felt like Jane was talking, confessing, exposing and confiding. So, I’ll now say that she spoke to me. She talked about love. She talked about hopes and dreams and joining. She also talked about losing ourselves in relationships. She talked of dreams lost and compromises and stagnation.
I can’t blog from work. That’s probably a good thing.
I can read. Sometimes, I can comment on some blogs but not on others. I will check out my favorites when I take a break or eat lunch.
Today, after I read Jane’s blog, I did something very uncharacteristic. I am a workaholic. I keep my life very compartmentalized. I am all business when it comes to my job. Today was different. I closed my door and I put my “teleconference” note on the door.
I cried.
I.do.not.cry.at.work.
Well, okay, I did once at my last job and I’ll probably (thanks to Jane) write about that one day.
Why did I cry today?
I saw myself in her words. This is not to say that any other person is to blame for what happened to me. Actually, I blame only me for what I did to myself.
There is a very fine line between compromising for the sake of a relationship and sacrificing what is integral to our souls. I made sacrifices that were not asked of me.
I’ve known that Iwanted needed to write since I was nine years old. I’ve wanted to write about fun. I’ve wanted to write about self-exploration. I’ve wanted to write to entertain. I’ve wanted to write to be understood.
I work in a job where my writing is technical. It doesn’t satisfy my heart and soul. I created this blog so I could write about what matters to me. I found myself shackled by frustration and compassion and fear and kindness. I losta little a lot of myself in that.
I need to say this: MrWurdi always encouraged me to write. He encouraged exploration of my soul and my heart and my dreams. I’ll always love him for many reasons but, especially, because of that. The restrictions that were on me were those I placed all on my own.
I used to work on my car. I used to go to the range and shoot. I used to hunt. I used to build things. I used to be more social. I don’t know that I stopped these activities because of relationships. Did I get lazy? Did I get complacent? Did other things become more important? Those are questions that I will be asking myself for some time to come.
Do-it-yourself psychoanalysis is hard. It means that you have to revisit those experiences that are hard. It means digging down into your pain, wallowing just a little bit, and understanding it. It means overcoming the pain – again – and growing because of your understanding.
There is something important that I learned today. I learned that I need to be like Jane. I need to write about what is real. I need to write about what is hard and painful and meaningful. That means that I might write about things that are uncomfortable. It means that I may write about things that make other people uncomfortable. That is really hard for me.
I want and need to be honest. It is part of who I am.
Stay tuned. There will still be ridiculous posts and random thoughts but I think this blog may change a little bit.
Thank you, Jane.
Duchess Jane is that person.
She’s also known as Beth but she is and always will be royalty, in my opinion, so I love the “Duchess” moniker. I’d like to tell you why.
Jane writes about what is real. She writes about what is hard. She digs down deep into her soul, her heart, and her pain. She describes what she discovers in ways that evoke emotion – strong, life-changing emotion – and in ways that inspire those of us who don’t/can’t find that truthfulness in our writing.
Don’t get me wrong. It’s not that I don’t live truth. I do. I try really hard to always be honest with myself and my feelings. I try to not be false or dishonest in anything I do. Unfortunately, I sometimes find that I don’t write about my truth. The reasons for that vary but, usually, it’s associated with not wanting to hurt people. I worry that sharing my experience puts other peoples’ experiences out there for others to examine. I worry, even if I don’t name names, that people will assume they know who I’m discussing. That’s one of the dangers of non-anonymous writing. People who know me in real life read what I write. They will see themselves whether or not I’m writing about them.
I have been a coward.
Jane is not. (I tried, but can not find, the link to Jane's post about how people should not assume but should ask if a certain post is about them.)
Yesterday, Jane wrote about how Empires Weren't Built Here, Part 1. I read it today and, once again, I was in awe of her ability to yank feeling out of words. She talked about dying and what would be left. What would her last words be… out there in the ether on the Internet. Would it be something meaningful? Would people look at her last status update? Her last blog post? Her last Tweet? What if something tragic happened and she survived? Would people look at that and what she wrote?
She wrote about writing of experiences and whether she should chronicle those encounters. She wrote about her anxiousness concerning that. She wrote, “…would I succumb to this fear of being viewed as a pillager of my own tragedies and betrayer of my family, peddling their pain for pennies on the internet?”
I understood this all too well.
It seems so lame to say, “Me, too!” “I know!” “I feel that!” “Yes, yes, YES!”
I waited until my blog reader updated; thankfully, it was quickly. Empires Weren’t Built Here, Part 2 showed up soon after. This one was harder for me. I’m going to change the way I describe this. Writing is good but it felt like Jane was talking, confessing, exposing and confiding. So, I’ll now say that she spoke to me. She talked about love. She talked about hopes and dreams and joining. She also talked about losing ourselves in relationships. She talked of dreams lost and compromises and stagnation.
I can’t blog from work. That’s probably a good thing.
I can read. Sometimes, I can comment on some blogs but not on others. I will check out my favorites when I take a break or eat lunch.
Today, after I read Jane’s blog, I did something very uncharacteristic. I am a workaholic. I keep my life very compartmentalized. I am all business when it comes to my job. Today was different. I closed my door and I put my “teleconference” note on the door.
I cried.
I.do.not.cry.at.work.
Well, okay, I did once at my last job and I’ll probably (thanks to Jane) write about that one day.
Why did I cry today?
I saw myself in her words. This is not to say that any other person is to blame for what happened to me. Actually, I blame only me for what I did to myself.
There is a very fine line between compromising for the sake of a relationship and sacrificing what is integral to our souls. I made sacrifices that were not asked of me.
I’ve known that I
I work in a job where my writing is technical. It doesn’t satisfy my heart and soul. I created this blog so I could write about what matters to me. I found myself shackled by frustration and compassion and fear and kindness. I lost
I need to say this: MrWurdi always encouraged me to write. He encouraged exploration of my soul and my heart and my dreams. I’ll always love him for many reasons but, especially, because of that. The restrictions that were on me were those I placed all on my own.
I used to work on my car. I used to go to the range and shoot. I used to hunt. I used to build things. I used to be more social. I don’t know that I stopped these activities because of relationships. Did I get lazy? Did I get complacent? Did other things become more important? Those are questions that I will be asking myself for some time to come.
Do-it-yourself psychoanalysis is hard. It means that you have to revisit those experiences that are hard. It means digging down into your pain, wallowing just a little bit, and understanding it. It means overcoming the pain – again – and growing because of your understanding.
There is something important that I learned today. I learned that I need to be like Jane. I need to write about what is real. I need to write about what is hard and painful and meaningful. That means that I might write about things that are uncomfortable. It means that I may write about things that make other people uncomfortable. That is really hard for me.
I want and need to be honest. It is part of who I am.
Stay tuned. There will still be ridiculous posts and random thoughts but I think this blog may change a little bit.
Thank you, Jane.
Tuesday, April 06, 2010
Unsympathetic
A ramble...
As the voice droned on, my mind drifted and I wondered what in this woman’s childhood had led to the outlook she had on life. Was it just that she’d never been taught to take responsibility for her own actions? Was there real psychological illness? A failure of the synapses in her brain to fire and connect? A chemical imbalance? Or was it simple blame-shifting, the disease of the 80s that had found its way, thanks to Sally Jesse, Phil, Oprah, Jerry and the rest, through to the following decades? “It’s not my fault, I had a tough childhood.” “We were poor, I had to steal.” “I was afraid, I had to lie.” “My mother was immoral.” “I didn’t have a dad.” I didn’t know whether to feel irritated or compassionate. I think it was a combination of both. Should I try to help? Should I just listen? That was hard. She didn’t want to hear it if she was wrong and I had a hard time keeping it to myself when I knew I was right.
“… and that’s why I’m miserable. I have no control over my life…” From experience, I knew she could go on for hours on the topic of herself but didn’t seem aware of the fact that I wasn’t paying complete attention. This was the umpteenth time I’d heard this speech. I must have been nodding my head and making the appropriate murmurs on cue. She wanted someone to tell her what to do, just so long as they were telling her to do what it was she wanted to do. A collaborator in her actions. Someone to blame if it was the wrong thing; someone who would remember that she had made a good decision if it turned out okay.
As the voice droned on, my mind drifted and I wondered what in this woman’s childhood had led to the outlook she had on life. Was it just that she’d never been taught to take responsibility for her own actions? Was there real psychological illness? A failure of the synapses in her brain to fire and connect? A chemical imbalance? Or was it simple blame-shifting, the disease of the 80s that had found its way, thanks to Sally Jesse, Phil, Oprah, Jerry and the rest, through to the following decades? “It’s not my fault, I had a tough childhood.” “We were poor, I had to steal.” “I was afraid, I had to lie.” “My mother was immoral.” “I didn’t have a dad.” I didn’t know whether to feel irritated or compassionate. I think it was a combination of both. Should I try to help? Should I just listen? That was hard. She didn’t want to hear it if she was wrong and I had a hard time keeping it to myself when I knew I was right.
“… and that’s why I’m miserable. I have no control over my life…” From experience, I knew she could go on for hours on the topic of herself but didn’t seem aware of the fact that I wasn’t paying complete attention. This was the umpteenth time I’d heard this speech. I must have been nodding my head and making the appropriate murmurs on cue. She wanted someone to tell her what to do, just so long as they were telling her to do what it was she wanted to do. A collaborator in her actions. Someone to blame if it was the wrong thing; someone who would remember that she had made a good decision if it turned out okay.
Monday, March 15, 2010
I'm Taking Back My Blog
Yeah, yeah, you've heard it too many times. I've been busy. I've been distracted. I haven't been blogging.
I'm taking back my blog from the spammers.
You know, it's rare that I'd have anything good to say about spammers but at least they inspired me to come back here and clean things up a little bit.
I'm back in school (yikes!), there have been some pretty major life changes, work is as busy as ever.
I'm planning to write about some of this soon. I don't usually share really personal stuff on this thing but I will be, vaguely, explaining why the last year has been short on my rambling wordy crap that I put out here.
Really, Internet, it's not you... it's me. I haven't even seen many of my "real life" friends recently. It's been a month and a half since I've seen Wormy - and she's the best real life friend I have.
I'm completely sucking at this work-life balance. I hope I can fix that.
I'm taking back my blog from the spammers.
You know, it's rare that I'd have anything good to say about spammers but at least they inspired me to come back here and clean things up a little bit.
I'm back in school (yikes!), there have been some pretty major life changes, work is as busy as ever.
I'm planning to write about some of this soon. I don't usually share really personal stuff on this thing but I will be, vaguely, explaining why the last year has been short on my rambling wordy crap that I put out here.
Really, Internet, it's not you... it's me. I haven't even seen many of my "real life" friends recently. It's been a month and a half since I've seen Wormy - and she's the best real life friend I have.
I'm completely sucking at this work-life balance. I hope I can fix that.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Veteran's Day
In my profile, I've mentioned that I'm a defense contractor. It's kind of a family business. My dad was a defense contractor, too, for over 25 years. However, before that, he was in the Army. He made a career of both with more than four decades of service to our country.
I grew up appreciating the sacrifices our military personnel make. I saw, first-hand, the dedication of our servicemen and women. The pay is low, the hours long, and the sacrifice for some, ultimate.
Today is Veteran's Day. It's a day for us to remember those who paid that ultimate price and a day to thank those who are still with us.
I frequently get frustrated at work. The red-tape and bullshit combined with the "who cares" attitude of some of my colleagues makes my tasks daunting at times. Recently, though, my dad let me have his old helmet from his Army days. I put it on my bookshelf at work and every single day when I walk into my office, I see it and remember who it is I'm working to support - the American Soldier. That's what makes it worth it, that's what makes my job mean so much to me.
Gene Castagnetti, USMC, (retired), director, National Memorial Cemetery of the Pacific is credited by some as saying, "A veteran is someone who, at one point in his life wrote a blank check made payable to 'The United States of America' for an amount of up to and including his life. That is Honor, and there are way too many people in this country who no longer understand it."
Another tidbit: Colin Powell, while at a large conference in England, was asked by the Archbishop of Canterbury if our plans for Iraq were just an example of ‘empire building' by George Bush. He answered by saying, 'Over the years, the United States has sent many of its fine young men and women into great peril to fight for freedom beyond our borders. The only amount of land we have ever asked for in return is enough to bury those that did not return.’
Thank you, G.I. Joe and G.I. Jane. I appreciate you more than I can ever say.
I rarely talk about family and I never post personal pictures but Dad gave me permission to share a few of his service photos. Thank you, Dad.
Hua, Hooah, Hoorah, Hooyah, Semper Fi, and Anchors Aweigh!
I grew up appreciating the sacrifices our military personnel make. I saw, first-hand, the dedication of our servicemen and women. The pay is low, the hours long, and the sacrifice for some, ultimate.
Today is Veteran's Day. It's a day for us to remember those who paid that ultimate price and a day to thank those who are still with us.
I frequently get frustrated at work. The red-tape and bullshit combined with the "who cares" attitude of some of my colleagues makes my tasks daunting at times. Recently, though, my dad let me have his old helmet from his Army days. I put it on my bookshelf at work and every single day when I walk into my office, I see it and remember who it is I'm working to support - the American Soldier. That's what makes it worth it, that's what makes my job mean so much to me.
Gene Castagnetti, USMC, (retired), director, National Memorial Cemetery of the Pacific is credited by some as saying, "A veteran is someone who, at one point in his life wrote a blank check made payable to 'The United States of America' for an amount of up to and including his life. That is Honor, and there are way too many people in this country who no longer understand it."
Another tidbit: Colin Powell, while at a large conference in England, was asked by the Archbishop of Canterbury if our plans for Iraq were just an example of ‘empire building' by George Bush. He answered by saying, 'Over the years, the United States has sent many of its fine young men and women into great peril to fight for freedom beyond our borders. The only amount of land we have ever asked for in return is enough to bury those that did not return.’
Thank you, G.I. Joe and G.I. Jane. I appreciate you more than I can ever say.
I rarely talk about family and I never post personal pictures but Dad gave me permission to share a few of his service photos. Thank you, Dad.
Hua, Hooah, Hoorah, Hooyah, Semper Fi, and Anchors Aweigh!
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
June? The last time I posted was JUNE?
That's just ridiculous. June? That was almost half a year ago.
Issue One:
I've had some access issues to the blog.
Issue Two:
I have been sofa king busy at work I can't see straight.
Issue Three:
Non-blog-appropriate personal stuff going on in my life.
Issue Four:
Ennui (The link will take you to a dictionary and recording of the pronunciation.)
Risk Mitigation Strategies (Can you tell I have work on my brain? Substitute "Excuse" for "Issue." Then, substitute "Issue Resolution" for "Risk Mitigation Strategies" and we'll be back in the real world and out of defense contracting land... well, at least we'll be on the path there. Issue Resolution is still rather work-like but it's early and I haven't had enough coffee.)
Okay.
Excuse/Issue Resolution One:
I'm wicked smaht and I have gadgets. I can take care of this.
Excuse/Issue Resolution Two:
I'm working on my life/work balance and, while I really love my job, I need to make the time to do the things I like to do (like writing and such).
Excuse/Issue Resolution Three:
I don't wanna talk about it. Maybe later.
Excuse/Issue Resolution Four:
Note - I love that word. I'll snap out of it.
I can't wait to tell you about the Random Wheel of Funk!
Issue One:
I've had some access issues to the blog.
Issue Two:
I have been sofa king busy at work I can't see straight.
Issue Three:
Non-blog-appropriate personal stuff going on in my life.
Issue Four:
Ennui (The link will take you to a dictionary and recording of the pronunciation.)
Risk Mitigation Strategies (Can you tell I have work on my brain? Substitute "Excuse" for "Issue." Then, substitute "Issue Resolution" for "Risk Mitigation Strategies" and we'll be back in the real world and out of defense contracting land... well, at least we'll be on the path there. Issue Resolution is still rather work-like but it's early and I haven't had enough coffee.)
Okay.
Excuse/Issue Resolution One:
I'm wicked smaht and I have gadgets. I can take care of this.
Excuse/Issue Resolution Two:
I'm working on my life/work balance and, while I really love my job, I need to make the time to do the things I like to do (like writing and such).
Excuse/Issue Resolution Three:
I don't wanna talk about it. Maybe later.
Excuse/Issue Resolution Four:
Note - I love that word. I'll snap out of it.
I can't wait to tell you about the Random Wheel of Funk!
Friday, April 10, 2009
Tap, tap, tap... Is this thing on?
I have had so much bloggity-blog-blog stuff to share with you, dear Internet. Alas, I have been paralyzed by my last post. Every single time I had something to write about, I'd remember that I hadn't followed up on Electile Dysfunction. Then, the thought of writing about politics would make my head hurt.
So, you haven't read about Highway Treadmill Guy or the ancient iron or what's cooking in Ima's kitchen or my Flat Stanley project and the follow-on to that, Flat Stanley After Dark. I haven't written about continuing Publix Embarrassment or my searches for great service. No haikus (Haiked Up, Clafoutis, Redneck, Wine) or limericks or funny cartoons have made their way to the Not-So-Wordy-After-All-Bitch blog.
So, rather than write a long essay about each of my voting issues, I'll keep it short and get this over with so I can blog about trivial stuff again. Someday, maybe when I have a little more emotional energy, I'll expound but no promises (threats).
In my last post, I listed my voting issues as follows:
1. Pro-Defense
2. Pro-Gun Rights
3. Pro-Life
4. Pro-Gay Marriage
That's the wrong order, for one thing. Let me try again.
1. Pro-Life
The rest pretty much all tie for importance but I'm just not going to vote for someone who is not pro-life.
Now, I know terminology can get people all stirred up and I could devote this whole post to that topic (but I'm not). I'm pro-life. I call it pro-life. I don't use the term anti-life for people who are pro-choice. Please don't call me anti-choice. I'll use your preferred term for you and you use mine for me, okay? I'm not anti-choice. It might surprise you to know that I'm pro-choice in my own way.
I do not for a minute think that any person or agency or government should tell any sane adult what they can or can not do with their own body. After that is where my path and the pro-choicers paths separate. The way I see it, once a person is pregnant, it's not just their body we're discussing. It comes down to the question of when life begins. There are so many differing opinions on this. Whether it's at conception or when there are brain waves or at birth or first breath has been and will continue to be debated. Brain waves (one of the criteria for keeping an adult on life support) have been measured at six weeks after conception. For me, that's life - an innocent life. Technology may eventually show us that there's "life" earlier than that.
I believe a person should be able to do what they want to do with their own body but that involves being responsible about that body. We all do risky things, knowing the risks and taking precautions, but knowing the potential consequences. Don't want any more kids? You can take all of the precautions: condoms, birth control pills, vasectomy for your partner, tubal ligations, etc. but there's still the risk of pregnancy. The only sure ways are to either not have sex or not have a uterus (yay, hysterectomies!)
There are arguments for legal abortion that are worth civilized discussion (life of the mother being one) but the current laws allowing abortion for any reason means that many innocent lives are ended because they were inconvenient or would create a hardship or just because the mother wasn't being responsible about her body. I've seen it and I've heard it. I volunteered for a crisis pregnancy hotline many years ago and met women who used abortion as birth control. I understand how difficult it can be to be a pregnant teenager who isn't going to be able to take the scholarship - that was me.
Contentious topic, I know, but it's one about which I feel very strongly and, as the tagline says, "This is how I see it." That said, I'd be glad to have a rational, reasonable, polite conversation about this or any topic.
Since I promised I wasn't going to do a lengthy essay on each of my voting issues, I'll keep the other three really short for today.
~Pro-Gun Rights: I'm a law-abiding citizen. Taking my gun rights because others have abused theirs is not acceptable.
~Pro-Defense: We can not afford to be complacent.
~Pro-Gay Marriage: I am sure I'll do a long post on this at some point... Love is a good thing, baby. Marriage isn't just a religious thing - it's a legal thing. The laws are written using the word "marriage" to show a legal joining that allows for certain legal rights - legal rights that should not be infringed upon because of who or how you love.
Peace and Love and Congrats to Vermont this week for seeing the light!
So, you haven't read about Highway Treadmill Guy or the ancient iron or what's cooking in Ima's kitchen or my Flat Stanley project and the follow-on to that, Flat Stanley After Dark. I haven't written about continuing Publix Embarrassment or my searches for great service. No haikus (Haiked Up, Clafoutis, Redneck, Wine) or limericks or funny cartoons have made their way to the Not-So-Wordy-After-All-Bitch blog.
So, rather than write a long essay about each of my voting issues, I'll keep it short and get this over with so I can blog about trivial stuff again. Someday, maybe when I have a little more emotional energy, I'll expound but no promises (threats).
In my last post, I listed my voting issues as follows:
1. Pro-Defense
2. Pro-Gun Rights
3. Pro-Life
4. Pro-Gay Marriage
That's the wrong order, for one thing. Let me try again.
1. Pro-Life
The rest pretty much all tie for importance but I'm just not going to vote for someone who is not pro-life.
Now, I know terminology can get people all stirred up and I could devote this whole post to that topic (but I'm not). I'm pro-life. I call it pro-life. I don't use the term anti-life for people who are pro-choice. Please don't call me anti-choice. I'll use your preferred term for you and you use mine for me, okay? I'm not anti-choice. It might surprise you to know that I'm pro-choice in my own way.
I do not for a minute think that any person or agency or government should tell any sane adult what they can or can not do with their own body. After that is where my path and the pro-choicers paths separate. The way I see it, once a person is pregnant, it's not just their body we're discussing. It comes down to the question of when life begins. There are so many differing opinions on this. Whether it's at conception or when there are brain waves or at birth or first breath has been and will continue to be debated. Brain waves (one of the criteria for keeping an adult on life support) have been measured at six weeks after conception. For me, that's life - an innocent life. Technology may eventually show us that there's "life" earlier than that.
I believe a person should be able to do what they want to do with their own body but that involves being responsible about that body. We all do risky things, knowing the risks and taking precautions, but knowing the potential consequences. Don't want any more kids? You can take all of the precautions: condoms, birth control pills, vasectomy for your partner, tubal ligations, etc. but there's still the risk of pregnancy. The only sure ways are to either not have sex or not have a uterus (yay, hysterectomies!)
There are arguments for legal abortion that are worth civilized discussion (life of the mother being one) but the current laws allowing abortion for any reason means that many innocent lives are ended because they were inconvenient or would create a hardship or just because the mother wasn't being responsible about her body. I've seen it and I've heard it. I volunteered for a crisis pregnancy hotline many years ago and met women who used abortion as birth control. I understand how difficult it can be to be a pregnant teenager who isn't going to be able to take the scholarship - that was me.
Contentious topic, I know, but it's one about which I feel very strongly and, as the tagline says, "This is how I see it." That said, I'd be glad to have a rational, reasonable, polite conversation about this or any topic.
Since I promised I wasn't going to do a lengthy essay on each of my voting issues, I'll keep the other three really short for today.
~Pro-Gun Rights: I'm a law-abiding citizen. Taking my gun rights because others have abused theirs is not acceptable.
~Pro-Defense: We can not afford to be complacent.
~Pro-Gay Marriage: I am sure I'll do a long post on this at some point... Love is a good thing, baby. Marriage isn't just a religious thing - it's a legal thing. The laws are written using the word "marriage" to show a legal joining that allows for certain legal rights - legal rights that should not be infringed upon because of who or how you love.
Peace and Love and Congrats to Vermont this week for seeing the light!
Tuesday, December 09, 2008
Electile Dysfunction – Part One
I know, I know… the election is over. Let’s just say I’m getting ready early for 2012. Or, I’m doing a little do-it-yourself psychoanalysis about my reaction to the election.
The title of this post comes from something I read several weeks ago. It defined electile dysfunction as, “the inability to become aroused over any of the choices for President put forth by either party in the 2008 election year.” That’s how I felt.
I don’t vote by party. I vote issues. There was no single candidate who I felt spoke for me, who would support the issues that matter to me. My main voting issues are limited to just four. My ideal candidate would be:
1. Pro-Defense
2. Pro-Gun Rights
3. Pro-Life
4. Pro-Gay Marriage
It’s pretty easy until you get to number four. Most conservative candidates are pro-defense, pro-gun rights, and pro-life. No one seems to want to stand up and say they support gay marriage.
McCain? I like mavericks. I think he’s an amazing man who doesn’t get nearly enough credit for everything he’s done (and sacrificed) for this country.
When Palin was chosen as the Vice-Presidential candidate for the Republicans, I was kind of excited. No, I didn’t necessarily think she’d be a great VP but I didn’t think she’d be any worse than the other choices. I was excited because she was different. She wasn’t afraid to go against her party. She didn’t seem to be intimidated by the whole process.
Still, I wasn’t going to vote Republican because… well, I’ll explain that in a little while.
Obama. Obama wasn’t going to get my vote because he threatens my paycheck, my right to own guns, and the right-to-life movement. He’s also pretty wishy-washy on the gay marriage issue.
Biden? Barely a blip on my radar. From what I’ve observed, read, and heard - he’s your standard Democrat-politician type. Not too much to get excited about there.
I’ve often said that if I was forced to choose a political party, it would be Libertarian. They believe in smaller government, lower taxes, and more freedom. That’s the short version. If you’d like to read more, check out the Libertarian Party Platform (It’s a link! Go ahead! Click it!)
Still, their candidate didn’t excite me all that much. Bob Barr seemed to be, again, more of the same stuff we’ve always had but in a shiny, new Libertarian package. Bob was a Republican until 2004 although he did, frequently, opposed several Republican-sponsored actions. He didn’t really appeal to me that much but he did get my vote.
Why, you ask?
Here’s why.
I live in Alabama. McCain was going to win Alabama. I could live with that. What I wanted was for my vote to make a difference.
I admit it. I was a bit jealous of my liberal and Democrat friends who had a candidate who made them feel excited and passionate.
I want to be excited about an election and a candidate during my lifetime. The only way I’m ever going to have that feeling is if there’s a viable candidate who isn’t part of the Republican or Democratic sameness. The only way we’re going to see other candidates is if the people who fund them believe they stand a chance.
Barr got my vote* because I wanted other Libertarian and Independent candidates to step forward in the years to come. I hope that if Independents get enough votes that, during the next election and the ones after that, there will be more choices. It won’t happen soon but maybe, someday, there will be a candidate for me.
Call me an optimist.
Over the next few posts, I plan to talk a little bit about my political issues. I’m not planning on beating anyone over the head with my beliefs; however, I’ve learned that simply understanding where someone else is coming from (even if you never feel the way they do) goes a very long way. Understanding, even with disagreement, leads to peaceful discussion.
Kumbayah, y’all.
*My vote was one of 4,991 for Bob Barr in Alabama. Other candidate totals: McCain – 1,266,546; Obama – 813,479; Nader – 6,788; Baldwin – 4,310. Just think! If I hadn’t voted for Barr, he would have only received 4,990 votes. It’s hard being an optimist some days.
The title of this post comes from something I read several weeks ago. It defined electile dysfunction as, “the inability to become aroused over any of the choices for President put forth by either party in the 2008 election year.” That’s how I felt.
I don’t vote by party. I vote issues. There was no single candidate who I felt spoke for me, who would support the issues that matter to me. My main voting issues are limited to just four. My ideal candidate would be:
1. Pro-Defense
2. Pro-Gun Rights
3. Pro-Life
4. Pro-Gay Marriage
It’s pretty easy until you get to number four. Most conservative candidates are pro-defense, pro-gun rights, and pro-life. No one seems to want to stand up and say they support gay marriage.
McCain? I like mavericks. I think he’s an amazing man who doesn’t get nearly enough credit for everything he’s done (and sacrificed) for this country.
When Palin was chosen as the Vice-Presidential candidate for the Republicans, I was kind of excited. No, I didn’t necessarily think she’d be a great VP but I didn’t think she’d be any worse than the other choices. I was excited because she was different. She wasn’t afraid to go against her party. She didn’t seem to be intimidated by the whole process.
Still, I wasn’t going to vote Republican because… well, I’ll explain that in a little while.
Obama. Obama wasn’t going to get my vote because he threatens my paycheck, my right to own guns, and the right-to-life movement. He’s also pretty wishy-washy on the gay marriage issue.
Biden? Barely a blip on my radar. From what I’ve observed, read, and heard - he’s your standard Democrat-politician type. Not too much to get excited about there.
I’ve often said that if I was forced to choose a political party, it would be Libertarian. They believe in smaller government, lower taxes, and more freedom. That’s the short version. If you’d like to read more, check out the Libertarian Party Platform (It’s a link! Go ahead! Click it!)
Still, their candidate didn’t excite me all that much. Bob Barr seemed to be, again, more of the same stuff we’ve always had but in a shiny, new Libertarian package. Bob was a Republican until 2004 although he did, frequently, opposed several Republican-sponsored actions. He didn’t really appeal to me that much but he did get my vote.
Why, you ask?
Here’s why.
I live in Alabama. McCain was going to win Alabama. I could live with that. What I wanted was for my vote to make a difference.
I admit it. I was a bit jealous of my liberal and Democrat friends who had a candidate who made them feel excited and passionate.
I want to be excited about an election and a candidate during my lifetime. The only way I’m ever going to have that feeling is if there’s a viable candidate who isn’t part of the Republican or Democratic sameness. The only way we’re going to see other candidates is if the people who fund them believe they stand a chance.
Barr got my vote* because I wanted other Libertarian and Independent candidates to step forward in the years to come. I hope that if Independents get enough votes that, during the next election and the ones after that, there will be more choices. It won’t happen soon but maybe, someday, there will be a candidate for me.
Call me an optimist.
Over the next few posts, I plan to talk a little bit about my political issues. I’m not planning on beating anyone over the head with my beliefs; however, I’ve learned that simply understanding where someone else is coming from (even if you never feel the way they do) goes a very long way. Understanding, even with disagreement, leads to peaceful discussion.
Kumbayah, y’all.
*My vote was one of 4,991 for Bob Barr in Alabama. Other candidate totals: McCain – 1,266,546; Obama – 813,479; Nader – 6,788; Baldwin – 4,310. Just think! If I hadn’t voted for Barr, he would have only received 4,990 votes. It’s hard being an optimist some days.
Thursday, December 04, 2008
Certain Things Make Me Uncomfortable...
Apologies, even when they're heartfelt can be uncomfortable. You know, like apologizing for not blogging in freakin' forever.
Dear Chef~H, Pinky, AndiKandi and everyone else who has scolded, cajoled, pleaded, or given up on me ever posting again,
I'm sorry.
Sincerely,
Ima
Are we all over that now?
Super!
Apologizing about my absence isn't what has really made me uncomfortable, though.
It's toesocks.
Yep. Toesocks.
My daughter's really weird about feet. I mean, no one touches her feet. She doesn't like seeing or touching feet belonging to other people. She loves toesocks. She's a bit of a freak.
Me, I'm cool with feet. As long as they aren't dirty and don't have clawnails instead of toenails, they're mostly non-offensive to me. Don't tickle mine and we're going to get along just fine. I really don't like toesocks. I am also a bit of a freak.
I want to like toesocks. They're cute! The ones I purchased in yet another failed attempt to develop an appreciation for them even have monkeys on them! Monkeys! I love monkeys. I love socks! I like feet! Why, oh why, do I have such an issue with toesocks?
I was talking to my dear friend, Chef_H, the other day and she summed it up perfectly:
"It's like your toes are wearing thongs."
That Chef~H may have issues with fried chicken but she's a genius when it comes to toesocks.
Just a bit of a sidenote... I have Spock toes. If you know me in person, you've probably seen them sans socks. Seriously. Spock toes.
Live long and prosper, Internet.
Dear Chef~H, Pinky, AndiKandi and everyone else who has scolded, cajoled, pleaded, or given up on me ever posting again,
I'm sorry.
Sincerely,
Ima
Are we all over that now?
Super!
Apologizing about my absence isn't what has really made me uncomfortable, though.
It's toesocks.
Yep. Toesocks.
My daughter's really weird about feet. I mean, no one touches her feet. She doesn't like seeing or touching feet belonging to other people. She loves toesocks. She's a bit of a freak.
Me, I'm cool with feet. As long as they aren't dirty and don't have clawnails instead of toenails, they're mostly non-offensive to me. Don't tickle mine and we're going to get along just fine. I really don't like toesocks. I am also a bit of a freak.
I want to like toesocks. They're cute! The ones I purchased in yet another failed attempt to develop an appreciation for them even have monkeys on them! Monkeys! I love monkeys. I love socks! I like feet! Why, oh why, do I have such an issue with toesocks?
I was talking to my dear friend, Chef_H, the other day and she summed it up perfectly:
"It's like your toes are wearing thongs."
That Chef~H may have issues with fried chicken but she's a genius when it comes to toesocks.
Just a bit of a sidenote... I have Spock toes. If you know me in person, you've probably seen them sans socks. Seriously. Spock toes.
Live long and prosper, Internet.
Thursday, May 08, 2008
I Need a Break.
The Scene
Monday night. 9:15 p.m.
After nearly a month of 60+ hour work weeks and putting in an absolutely brutal day at work, I'd hoped to get home for a relaxing evening before packing for my 6:30 a.m. flight the next morning. I was at work. I was tired. It didn't look like I'd be leaving any time soon.
The Conversation
Bossman: So, how are you doing? Hanging in there okay?
Me: I'm beginning to suspect that I have horribly wronged you in a past life and, as a result, you are trying to kill me in this one.
Fortunately, my boss appreciates my sense of humor.
Monday night. 9:15 p.m.
After nearly a month of 60+ hour work weeks and putting in an absolutely brutal day at work, I'd hoped to get home for a relaxing evening before packing for my 6:30 a.m. flight the next morning. I was at work. I was tired. It didn't look like I'd be leaving any time soon.
The Conversation
Bossman: So, how are you doing? Hanging in there okay?
Me: I'm beginning to suspect that I have horribly wronged you in a past life and, as a result, you are trying to kill me in this one.
Fortunately, my boss appreciates my sense of humor.
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
Recycle Yourself!
In the past few weeks, I’ve been talking a bit about what I’m doing to be greener. Several years ago, it wasn’t something I really worried or thought much about. I had other priorities (keeping the lights on, not killing my children, relationship drama). I depended on take-out foods and convenience everything. There weren’t enough hours in the day for everything I had to do. I was just trying to make life a little better for those living under my roof and I wasn’t that concerned about the bigger picture.
There was one thing I did do. I signed up to be an organ donor. It was just a little checkmark on my driver’s license but I also made sure I told my family that if anything happened to me, I wanted them to donate anything that could be used. I also told them to put whatever was left in a box and bury it with a headstone that read, “See? I told you I was sick.”
Don’t have the money to buy organic?
Don’t have time to cook from scratch using whole foods?
Don’t have time to separate your cans and plastics and cardboard boxes?
It’s okay. There’s still something you can do.
RECYCLE YOURSELF*
Unless your religion forbids it, why not give your body parts to people who can use them once you’re finished with them? From my recent reading, it turns out that humans don’t make for very good compost so why not put those parts in other people who can live a little longer and better because of them.
*I first saw this very cool phrase on one of my favorite blogs, Driving With the Brakes On in a post titled, "A Holiday Reminder." Her husband is an Organ Recovery Coordinator for the Donor Alliance. Driving is not only a supporter of the Recycle Yourself plan, she’s also growing her very own new human.
There was one thing I did do. I signed up to be an organ donor. It was just a little checkmark on my driver’s license but I also made sure I told my family that if anything happened to me, I wanted them to donate anything that could be used. I also told them to put whatever was left in a box and bury it with a headstone that read, “See? I told you I was sick.”
Don’t have the money to buy organic?
Don’t have time to cook from scratch using whole foods?
Don’t have time to separate your cans and plastics and cardboard boxes?
It’s okay. There’s still something you can do.
RECYCLE YOURSELF*
Unless your religion forbids it, why not give your body parts to people who can use them once you’re finished with them? From my recent reading, it turns out that humans don’t make for very good compost so why not put those parts in other people who can live a little longer and better because of them.
*I first saw this very cool phrase on one of my favorite blogs, Driving With the Brakes On in a post titled, "A Holiday Reminder." Her husband is an Organ Recovery Coordinator for the Donor Alliance. Driving is not only a supporter of the Recycle Yourself plan, she’s also growing her very own new human.
Tuesday, March 04, 2008
Publix Embarrassment
I left my shopping cart in the Publix parking lot last night. They don’t have cart corrals. I left it right there. In the parking lot.
I am so embarrassed.
I didn’t want to do it.
I was under the influence of that dreadful condition… being nice.
Let me explain.
First of all, to understand how completely hypocritical I felt, you have to read my rant: Return Your Cart Here ~ or ~ People Irritate Me – Chapter2. I have publicly scolded people for their inconsiderate cart abandonment.
There I was, in the Publix parking lot. I’d just finished my little bit of shopping. Now, since you know I’m all about trying to be greener I was feeling rather proud of myself because I’d even remembered to grab my canvas bags out of the truck. This, in itself, was not an easy task. They were in the covered bed of the truck when I got to the store. They’d slid all the way up and I had to climb up in the truck. I was on my way home from work so I was wearing a skirt and heels. And it was windy. I had to boost myself up on the rather high tailgate (I’m short), then scoootch back, then lean back while holding my skirt down with one hand and reaching for the bags with the other.
Picture it.
Oh, hell, don’t bother.
Here’s what it looked like:
I am so embarrassed.
I didn’t want to do it.
I was under the influence of that dreadful condition… being nice.
Let me explain.
First of all, to understand how completely hypocritical I felt, you have to read my rant: Return Your Cart Here ~ or ~ People Irritate Me – Chapter2. I have publicly scolded people for their inconsiderate cart abandonment.
There I was, in the Publix parking lot. I’d just finished my little bit of shopping. Now, since you know I’m all about trying to be greener I was feeling rather proud of myself because I’d even remembered to grab my canvas bags out of the truck. This, in itself, was not an easy task. They were in the covered bed of the truck when I got to the store. They’d slid all the way up and I had to climb up in the truck. I was on my way home from work so I was wearing a skirt and heels. And it was windy. I had to boost myself up on the rather high tailgate (I’m short), then scoootch back, then lean back while holding my skirt down with one hand and reaching for the bags with the other.
Picture it.
Oh, hell, don’t bother.
Here’s what it looked like:
See? Not easy.
I went in and I looked at the organic produce. I didn’t need any of the produce they had that was organic but I did look at it. I did buy a non-organic cucumber because I like a cucumber garnish for my Hendricks martinis and I usually have cucumber as one of my snacks. I’m wandering, aren’t I? Do you see what’s happening here? I hate being hypocritical and I was and I’m just delaying the inevitable confession of my hypocrisy. And yes, it is inevitable. I’m a recovering Catholic and once you’ve learned how to confess you just can’t stop yourself.
I put the few things I needed in my cart, including my non-recombinant bovine growth hormone milk. I didn’t buy the organic milk. I was going to because that was my plan and I do like a good plan. They just didn’t have it in gallon size containers. More containers = less green, right? Plus, while I was blocking up the aisle, debating the merits of organic plus more packaging versus non-organic with less packaging, I noticed something in small print on the non-organic, Publix brand milk: No bovine growth hormones. Seriously. Store-brand milk with no hormones! Score! I’m still planning on trying some organic milk, it’s just going to have to wait until I can buy it a gallon at a time.
I was so pleased to see that the lady in front of me in the check-out line was also using canvas bags. I think the lady behind us was feeling guilty. She didn’t have canvas.
Usually, at Publix, a bagger person brings your groceries to your car and then returns the cart to the store. This eliminates the whole “return your cart” issue. Last night, there wasn’t a bagger person available so I got to bag my own groceries. Really, I’d prefer to bag them myself all the time because, well, because, um. Look. It’s like this. I know the best way to bag my groceries. I do.
Um.
I was just about to detail my OCD bagging tendencies but I think we all know that I’m just trying to keep from telling about how and why I left my cart in the parking lot. Besides, that can be a fun little story for another day.
~sigh~
I bagged my own groceries and wheeled my cart out to the truck. I was just getting ready to walk back to the store to return my cart when some (probably very nice) lady in a mini-van pulled up to my parking spot. It was a nice spot. It was pretty close to the store and the weather was getting worse and I could see why she’d want my spot. She rolled down her window, leaned out and said, “I’ll return that cart for you.”
“Great! Thanks!” I said, on the outside.
“But, but, I can’t leave the cart in the parking lot! I just can’t!” I said, on the inside.
I really had a problem with this. Yes, I know. I’m a dork but let me explain.
She would know that she’d taken responsibility for the cart. I’d know that she was taking responsibility for the cart. (Of course, I was planning on watching her in my rear view mirror and if she didn’t take that cart in, I was going to drive back around and give her a good scolding.) It’s just that anyone else watching would not know that Mini-van Mom and I had an agreement about the care and returning of the cart. It’s not that I care (that much) about what people think about me, either. It’s that someone watching might not be a regular returner. Seeing another person not returning their cart could nudge them right off the return-the-cart fence onto the “everybody leaves their cart” side.
THAT IS NOT A GOOD SIDE!
Still, what was I supposed to do? I had to leave the cart. There just wasn’t another good solution. I carefully positioned the cart so it wouldn’t roll into someone’s car and I got into the truck. Just as I was about to back up, a bagger person walked by. He was heading back to the store. He saw and retrieved my cart.
The.Shame.
You have no idea. Well, if you read my rant, you have an idea but, really, the actual shame was horrible.
He’ll probably not remember the inconsiderate woman in the big, honkin’, gas-guzzling truck who just lazily (not really!) left her cart in the lot. My concern was more that it might have colored his whole customer attitude for the rest of the evening. The ripple effect. He might have been testy with customers for the rest of the evening because his perception of the customer had been unjustifiably tainted by my cart abandonment.
Hmm.
I should probably get a hobby.
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
It Ain't Easy Bein' Green
Over the course of the past few years, I’ve been making some greenish changes in my life (and not just the new blog color!). Along with the seemingly never-ending quest to eat less (making a smaller, leaner Ima), I’ve been trying to consume less in other ways. I want a smaller, leaner life. More balance, less excess. I’m making the move to a greener existence.
Food:
I’m buying less packaged foods. By focusing on the outer edges of the grocery store, I’m purchasing foods that have less packaging. I still hit the aisles because I do need some convenience items but I try to stay away from overly packaged goods. I’m buying in bulk when I can and when it makes sense. I’m fine-tuning my grocery shopping in an attempt to not throw away food because it’s spoiled. I could go on and on about my love of the FoodSaver for protecting food from spoilage and freezer burn but Duchess Jane has already covered that topic completely AND with pictures. I make stock from chicken, ham, and beef bones (shrimp is next!) along with peelings from my veggies. There are articles on easy stock making here and here. I’m buying some organic foods.
General shopping:
I’m purchasing less stuff. I’ve never been much of a shopper, so that helps. I use lists to keep me away from those impulse purchases. I try to only buy those things I need and/or love. My new peep-toe black pumps fall into both of those categories!
Gasoline Consumption:
I play a little game with myself since, admittedly, I drive one of those shame-inducing larger vehicles. I have a gauge that tells me what my current gas mileage is. Sure, it does the average, too, but by keeping my eye on the current number, I can see that gunning it makes it go down (duh) while a slow, steady pressure on the gas pedal has less of a bad effect on my mileage. It’s an ongoing contest with myself to see how high I can keep it. I try to figure out the shortest route to where I’m going and I combine trips as much as possible.
Electrical/Water Consumption:
I suck at this. I’m working on it. I leave the TV on when I’m going to sleep; although I do put it on sleep timer. I have a hard time remembering to turn the water off while I’m brushing my teeth but am working on that one, too. I’m slowly but surely replacing my light bulbs with these super-efficient, long lasting ones. They last for YEARS.
Existing Stuff:
I’m trying to give away much of the stuff I have in my home that I don’t need or love. If I feel “eh” about it, it’s going to end up at Hannah Home or Goodwill sometime soon. I’m not going all FlyLady about it (she scares me) but I’m trying to get rid of at least five things each weekday. MrWurdi’s son was talking last year about people who let their stuff own them. He’d been preparing to hike the Appalachian Trail and was, therefore, figuring his bare necessities so I suppose that had him pondering what he (we) really need. We end up accumulating so much stuff that we soon have to live in a bigger place or rent storage to keep up with all that stuff. We spend large quantities of our time maintaining and repairing our stuff. With all the time and money and effort we spend on our stuff, it ends up being our stuff owning us rather than us owning it. I will not be owned by my stuff.
Recycling:
We’re just getting started on this. Our local pick-up doesn’t have a large range of items they pick up for recycling but I suppose every little bit helps.
How Green Are You?
NPR has a neat, little quiz to help show you how green you are. The Consumer Consequences game asks questions about your lifestyle. While you play the game, it keeps up with how many planet "Earths" of natural resources it would take to sustain the 6.6 billion people on this one Earth - if everyone lived the way you do.
****************************************
I know I’m not going to live completely green. I drive an Avalanche and a ’77 Corvette (with a high performance engine). That’s not at all green. So, I make the changes I can and am willing to make. I also try to balance the “me stuff” by doing for others. Whether it’s raising funds for breast cancer research with Team GDT or donating goods or volunteering for a local clinic or goofing off, improving my vocabulary, and donating food to hungry people or just trying to help my family when I can, I try to make it all even out. Balance, not fanaticism about anything.
I’m always looking for ways I can be more green. Any ideas?
Food:
I’m buying less packaged foods. By focusing on the outer edges of the grocery store, I’m purchasing foods that have less packaging. I still hit the aisles because I do need some convenience items but I try to stay away from overly packaged goods. I’m buying in bulk when I can and when it makes sense. I’m fine-tuning my grocery shopping in an attempt to not throw away food because it’s spoiled. I could go on and on about my love of the FoodSaver for protecting food from spoilage and freezer burn but Duchess Jane has already covered that topic completely AND with pictures. I make stock from chicken, ham, and beef bones (shrimp is next!) along with peelings from my veggies. There are articles on easy stock making here and here. I’m buying some organic foods.
General shopping:
I’m purchasing less stuff. I’ve never been much of a shopper, so that helps. I use lists to keep me away from those impulse purchases. I try to only buy those things I need and/or love. My new peep-toe black pumps fall into both of those categories!
Gasoline Consumption:
I play a little game with myself since, admittedly, I drive one of those shame-inducing larger vehicles. I have a gauge that tells me what my current gas mileage is. Sure, it does the average, too, but by keeping my eye on the current number, I can see that gunning it makes it go down (duh) while a slow, steady pressure on the gas pedal has less of a bad effect on my mileage. It’s an ongoing contest with myself to see how high I can keep it. I try to figure out the shortest route to where I’m going and I combine trips as much as possible.
Electrical/Water Consumption:
I suck at this. I’m working on it. I leave the TV on when I’m going to sleep; although I do put it on sleep timer. I have a hard time remembering to turn the water off while I’m brushing my teeth but am working on that one, too. I’m slowly but surely replacing my light bulbs with these super-efficient, long lasting ones. They last for YEARS.
Existing Stuff:
I’m trying to give away much of the stuff I have in my home that I don’t need or love. If I feel “eh” about it, it’s going to end up at Hannah Home or Goodwill sometime soon. I’m not going all FlyLady about it (she scares me) but I’m trying to get rid of at least five things each weekday. MrWurdi’s son was talking last year about people who let their stuff own them. He’d been preparing to hike the Appalachian Trail and was, therefore, figuring his bare necessities so I suppose that had him pondering what he (we) really need. We end up accumulating so much stuff that we soon have to live in a bigger place or rent storage to keep up with all that stuff. We spend large quantities of our time maintaining and repairing our stuff. With all the time and money and effort we spend on our stuff, it ends up being our stuff owning us rather than us owning it. I will not be owned by my stuff.
Recycling:
We’re just getting started on this. Our local pick-up doesn’t have a large range of items they pick up for recycling but I suppose every little bit helps.
How Green Are You?
NPR has a neat, little quiz to help show you how green you are. The Consumer Consequences game asks questions about your lifestyle. While you play the game, it keeps up with how many planet "Earths" of natural resources it would take to sustain the 6.6 billion people on this one Earth - if everyone lived the way you do.
****************************************
I know I’m not going to live completely green. I drive an Avalanche and a ’77 Corvette (with a high performance engine). That’s not at all green. So, I make the changes I can and am willing to make. I also try to balance the “me stuff” by doing for others. Whether it’s raising funds for breast cancer research with Team GDT or donating goods or volunteering for a local clinic or goofing off, improving my vocabulary, and donating food to hungry people or just trying to help my family when I can, I try to make it all even out. Balance, not fanaticism about anything.
I’m always looking for ways I can be more green. Any ideas?
Tuesday, November 06, 2007
What A Bitch!
A few years ago, I was deliberately mean to someone.
I’m not talking about unintentionally hurting someone through a misunderstanding. Nor am I talking about physical hurt, either. For many, many reasons, I don’t do that. I’m talking about the deliberate, malicious, hurting of someone because that was my intent. I’m talking about hurting someone emotionally – of getting to that vulnerable part of someone and twisting them up inside in a way that hurts so badly they’ll never risk pissing you off again.
In my opinion, this particular woman had wronged me and she deserved whatever it was she got. So, I thought about it. I thought about what would hurt her the most and, when I had the opportunity, I did it. I really hurt her. I felt so justified in my meanness. I felt no guilt because, after all, she’d hurt me. That made it right; she deserved it. Right?
Wrong.
It took a few years before I realized I was wrong. In those years, I would gleefully recall my vindictive meanness. With pompous self-righteousness, I would justify my actions to myself and anyone who knew about what I’d done. I had every right – No, I deserved – to treat her as I did. I was still lily-white. She made me be mean.
One day, I dug a little deeper. I thought about what she’d done and what I’d done and how I’d justified it all those years. I thought about how I’d convinced myself that what she’d done made what I did okay. Except it didn’t. Sure, she hurt me and I’d used that as my excuse to hurt her – to be mean. She made me be mean? Bullshit. She didn’t make me be mean. That meanness was and is part of who I am. She was just the excuse for letting it out in the open.
I was horrified.
I’ve always considered myself to be a kind person. In high school, I was the teenage “Dear Abby.” I stood up for the underdog. I helped people. I rarely gossiped. I’d once written in a journal that if I died tomorrow, more than being funny or smart or anything else, I would want people to say that I was kind.
Kind people don’t maliciously hurt other people. No matter what.
It was a hard realization, this understanding that I could be that mean. I didn’t want to accept that about myself. Mean. Me. Hateful, spiteful, malicious, and mean. Me. Unfortunately, I’ve been on a never-ending quest for truth so I had to accept it.
When I got over the massive pity party of realizing I was so awful, I called the woman I’d hurt. I asked her if she’d consider meeting with me for a cup of coffee or something. She was, understandably, cautious but still agreed to come.
I apologized to her. I apologized sincerely and wholeheartedly. She, hesitantly, accepted my apology. She also tried to explain what she’d done and why and that she hadn’t meant to hurt me with her actions. Truth be told, I didn’t care about that. It didn’t matter whether she meant to hurt me or not. I can only be responsible for my actions. Only I can determine whether I will be kind or mean in any situation. Whether she meant it or not, I was hurt. That didn’t justify my being mean to her – or to anyone.
There may be a part of me that is hateful, spiteful, malicious, and mean but I get to decide if that’s how I will act. I have accepted that part of myself but I don’t let it define me or my actions. I choose, everyday, to be kind. Some days, that’s harder than others but the alternative is not acceptable to me.
I may be a wordy bitch but I am no longer a deliberate bitch.
I’m not talking about unintentionally hurting someone through a misunderstanding. Nor am I talking about physical hurt, either. For many, many reasons, I don’t do that. I’m talking about the deliberate, malicious, hurting of someone because that was my intent. I’m talking about hurting someone emotionally – of getting to that vulnerable part of someone and twisting them up inside in a way that hurts so badly they’ll never risk pissing you off again.
In my opinion, this particular woman had wronged me and she deserved whatever it was she got. So, I thought about it. I thought about what would hurt her the most and, when I had the opportunity, I did it. I really hurt her. I felt so justified in my meanness. I felt no guilt because, after all, she’d hurt me. That made it right; she deserved it. Right?
Wrong.
It took a few years before I realized I was wrong. In those years, I would gleefully recall my vindictive meanness. With pompous self-righteousness, I would justify my actions to myself and anyone who knew about what I’d done. I had every right – No, I deserved – to treat her as I did. I was still lily-white. She made me be mean.
One day, I dug a little deeper. I thought about what she’d done and what I’d done and how I’d justified it all those years. I thought about how I’d convinced myself that what she’d done made what I did okay. Except it didn’t. Sure, she hurt me and I’d used that as my excuse to hurt her – to be mean. She made me be mean? Bullshit. She didn’t make me be mean. That meanness was and is part of who I am. She was just the excuse for letting it out in the open.
I was horrified.
I’ve always considered myself to be a kind person. In high school, I was the teenage “Dear Abby.” I stood up for the underdog. I helped people. I rarely gossiped. I’d once written in a journal that if I died tomorrow, more than being funny or smart or anything else, I would want people to say that I was kind.
Kind people don’t maliciously hurt other people. No matter what.
It was a hard realization, this understanding that I could be that mean. I didn’t want to accept that about myself. Mean. Me. Hateful, spiteful, malicious, and mean. Me. Unfortunately, I’ve been on a never-ending quest for truth so I had to accept it.
When I got over the massive pity party of realizing I was so awful, I called the woman I’d hurt. I asked her if she’d consider meeting with me for a cup of coffee or something. She was, understandably, cautious but still agreed to come.
I apologized to her. I apologized sincerely and wholeheartedly. She, hesitantly, accepted my apology. She also tried to explain what she’d done and why and that she hadn’t meant to hurt me with her actions. Truth be told, I didn’t care about that. It didn’t matter whether she meant to hurt me or not. I can only be responsible for my actions. Only I can determine whether I will be kind or mean in any situation. Whether she meant it or not, I was hurt. That didn’t justify my being mean to her – or to anyone.
There may be a part of me that is hateful, spiteful, malicious, and mean but I get to decide if that’s how I will act. I have accepted that part of myself but I don’t let it define me or my actions. I choose, everyday, to be kind. Some days, that’s harder than others but the alternative is not acceptable to me.
I may be a wordy bitch but I am no longer a deliberate bitch.
Thursday, September 27, 2007
What Can One Person Do?
When a task seems so daunting you don't even know where to start, the question of "What can I do?" might discourage you from even trying. Let me tell you what one person can do. One person can have an idea and share that idea with another person. From there, it grows until "just one person" turns into a team with a mission.
Susan G. Komen's sister, Nancy Brinker, made a promise. As her sister was losing her battle with breast cancer, Nancy promised to do what she could to warn women that breast cancer can strike unexpectedly and that mammograms and breast self-examinations can save lives. Nancy started the Susan G. Komen for the Cure foundation and has made huge strides in research, education, and assistance.
Where does the money raised go? What does it do? It provides meals to families dealing with breast cancer; it provides breast cancer patients with transportation to and from treatment; it helps underserved patients receive medication and mammograms; and it helps patients get prostheses or wigs. It funds research. It provides for education and awareness. It matters. Every penny matters. Each "just one person" who does something, anything, makes a difference.
Is it all serious? No. There was much laughter and celebration associated with the race weekend. Survivors were cheered, friends reunited, fake boobs dispensed, cookies eaten, money raised. Lots of money. As the matching funds come in over the next few weeks, that dollar amount will rise. A screen shot of the TeamGDT page is below.
I'm so proud to be a part of this cause. I AM THE CURE!
Susan G. Komen's sister, Nancy Brinker, made a promise. As her sister was losing her battle with breast cancer, Nancy promised to do what she could to warn women that breast cancer can strike unexpectedly and that mammograms and breast self-examinations can save lives. Nancy started the Susan G. Komen for the Cure foundation and has made huge strides in research, education, and assistance.
Where does the money raised go? What does it do? It provides meals to families dealing with breast cancer; it provides breast cancer patients with transportation to and from treatment; it helps underserved patients receive medication and mammograms; and it helps patients get prostheses or wigs. It funds research. It provides for education and awareness. It matters. Every penny matters. Each "just one person" who does something, anything, makes a difference.
Is it all serious? No. There was much laughter and celebration associated with the race weekend. Survivors were cheered, friends reunited, fake boobs dispensed, cookies eaten, money raised. Lots of money. As the matching funds come in over the next few weeks, that dollar amount will rise. A screen shot of the TeamGDT page is below.
I'm so proud to be a part of this cause. I AM THE CURE!
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