Being an Outsider

 In my last therapy session, she made a good point that I identify very hard with being an outsider. There is definitely some truth to this, and I do know that I really hate feeling like an outsider. Things like moving away and suddenly hearing nothing about what's going on with my friends. Or finding out about a block party where our invitation was lost and feeling left out. Working for a company where I have an influential role, but I don't live in the headquarters city. I hate inside jokes, etc. etc. etc.

So, I'm going to try to spend some time thinking about old stories from my past where I have been the outsider. There have been a lot of them, so I figured I'd just use this old space to hold these old stories as I pull them together. It will be a little chaotic and timeline jumpy, but I agree that this is an important exercise for me to do to figure out where the root of this comes from, so I can figure out how not to be quite so butt-hurt when these kinds of things inevitably happen.

Rambling Thoughts About Men in Powerful Positions

Just gonna write. I've been MIA for a long time -- raising two little boys, working, living life. Too much to cover in some sort of weird little catch-up post. But I have things I need to process and things I need to write about, so I'm going to use this spot. I haven't ever been much for journaling, and besides -- at this point in digital life, my hand cramps from writing 3-5 sentences in a Valentine's card. So hand-writing is out.

But I can type. Lord knows I can type. Oftentimes with emotion, mostly fury and seething righteousness, but certainly with a speed that can (mostly) match the insanity in my head. So that's my vehicle. Microblogging over on Twitter (@strangeHeatherr), and longer processing over here. And I have virtually no followers, so this is really just for me to see what I'm thinking on "paper" and use that to order my brain a little bit better.

Right now, I'm just trying to make sense of several big church scandals (namely the Hillsong mess with Carl Lentz, and the RZIM mess with Ravi Zacharias). And there's no sense to be made. Truly. Too much power, too much assumption of being untouchable, too much human-worship, and you end up with lots of sin and corruption.

But more than that, I'm thinking about my own abuse for years at the hands of my pastor-father, and the complicated things that play in there. He was no media darling, but I still felt some of those same feelings described by the victims in these scandals and that victims of abuse (especially sexual abuse) feel, regardless of perpetrator.

"If I came forward, how many people would be hurt? Lose their faith?"

"What would I accomplish anyway? He's bigger and more powerful than I am."

"I would be wrecking my family."

"No one would forgive me."

"There's probably nobody else being abused."

And so you convince yourself not to say anything. Deal with it quietly. Try to avoid public confrontation (though there was no choice but to confront within my family unit, and we did). Because it doesn't go well for the accuser. Anyone else still remember Christine Blasey Ford's treatment during her (very believable) accusations? Did anyone actually see that as Brett Kavanaugh being on trial versus her being on trial? Which of them had to move, hire security, go underground? Which of them got rewarded with the top prize of their profession? It certainly didn't go the way of the accuser.

So we victims stay quiet. What's the point of bothering? In my case, the only thing that justified talking about those abuses, was to protect my sisters living with the same man. One sister had one devastating experience. The other was saved from actual experience, but was brought into the fold of the family skeletons at much too young an age (12), in order to allow her to fend for herself while the other sisters had left the toxic nest. My mother, also, had to come to her own reckoning of those things that had happened under her roof, on her watch. And she missed the signs. When confronted, she asked her 19-year-old daughter for marital advice. I refused to play that role. That question was one they would have to wrestle with. I'm guessing they didn't, or at least kept those conversations incredibly well-concealed.

So, I guess that's the answer. That's why people come forward -- to prevent more people from being abused, traumatized. To prevent bad behavior from escalating into really scary stuff. And to try and make their experiences mean something -- that someone else doesn't get hurt like they did. Blech.

Dark Can Be Funny, Right?

This pregnancy wasn't planned. We had started talking about the possibility of trying this summer to give Caleb a little sibling, but we hadn't entirely agreed on that timeline. No, we weren't preventing. But considering it took us months to get pregnant before, while actively charting, I didn't really think we were in the market for an Oops. And, yet, that's precisely what happened.

Pregnancy was so far off my radar that I was 10 days late before I even thought to test. Not 10 days past ovulation, but 10 days after I was supposed to get my period. And I'm one of those clockwork cycle ladies.

But we started to adjust to the idea of two under two, RB and I did. And we joked about Caleb's baby twin sisters, because three under two is even more funny. We figured out the baby would be due on New Years' Eve, and so we nervously laughed about our Halloween baby. The only thing funnier than three under two, apparently, is two babies in the NICU with a 15-month-old at home.

As we adjusted and warmed to the idea of trading the Mini Cooper for a minivan, we were starting to actually get excited about this little pickle we'd gotten ourselves into. We codenamed the baby "Inchworm" (Caleb was "Tadpole" until he was 4 days old), and we started to talk about room adjustments and carseat purchases and whether a third baby was in the cards for the future.

However, my progesterone numbers were falling. Not terribly surprisingly, yesterday afternoon the doctor couldn't find a heartbeat anywhere. At 8 weeks, it shouldn't be hard to find a heartbeat, so the pregnancy has been officially called non-viable. We have a D&C scheduled for next week, and then we'll let my body recover before diving into trying again.

In a world where a quarter of all pregnancies end in miscarriage, and a world where some people never have one, there are some of us doomed to have more. No one ever plans to be in the 3-pregnancies-1-child camp, but here I find myself. At least I do have that one child, and he is such a joy. I can't lose sight of that, even though times like this are hard.

So, now that my dark sense of humor is clear, and since I obviously cope oddly, I have to share this song whose slightly modified version is stuck in my head:

Go ahead and watch it. It's only about 2 minutes long. I'll wait.

And you're welcome. I can now virtually guarantee this song will be stuck in your head, too. Because, well, dead babies aren't much fun, either, but the song is catchy.

Why Being Pregnant Scares Me

So, yeah, still (probably) pregnant. Still in a bit of denial here.

Obviously, some of my nervousness comes from the fact that Caleb is so young. He still doesn't sleep through the night (well, maybe 1-2 nights a week he will), so I will go from no sleep while pregnant to no sleep while in the NICU to no sleep with a baby to no sleep while pregnant to no sleep with a baby (hoping to skip the NICU this time). That is a really long time to be sleep-deprived.

The other part of it is that I'm just straight up bad at being pregnant. If you don't want to know about the ugly side of being pregnant, you should skip the rest of this post. For real.

Don't say I didn't warn you.

I was so sick with Caleb that I lost weight while pregnant. People don't normally do that unless they are already pretty overweight to start with. I was probably 13-15 pounds overweight when I got pregnant, and after delivery I was 10 pounds underweight. I got a lot of comments about looking like a pregnant skeleton. The problem was I couldn't eat much of anything except salad and fish. You try gaining weight on that diet. Everything made me sick -- smells, textures, flavors. I threw up a lot. I threw up at work. I threw up in the shower. It was not fun. And then at 10 weeks, while trying desperately not to throw up in the trash can in the waiting room, I "got" to take the glucose drink test to diagnose gestational diabetes. Since I had GD, I was forbidden from the diet I would have preferred -- goldfish and Kraft macaroni and cheese -- and had to cut most of the carbs from my already limited diet. No dairy and very little fruit either.

Regardless of the fact that my body was quite sick with all the hormonal changes, I was not producing enough progesterone. Since I had had a previous miscarriage, it was determined that supplementing my already-crazy hormone levels with extra progesterone would be fun. Yay for twice-daily vaginal suppositories through week 12 that are amazingly nasty and guarantee nothing!

At 14 weeks, I gave into the nausea, and went on drugs. I was like a whole new person. It was amazing. I figured it would be short term (maybe I would be one of those women sick for -- gasp! -- 4 months instead of 3!), but every time I tried to wean myself off, I was right back to miserable and pukey. The last time I tried to stop taking them was (inadvertently) the week I ended up delivering. I took my pile of pills each night, including the anti-nauseal, and was usually able to make it through the day with just one dose. That week there was a day that I was sick all day, and figured I'd have to up my dose. Then I went to take my pills that night, and saw my cute little Zofran from the night before wedged in my little pill container, all sad that it had been missed. That's my proof the nausea wasn't psychosomatic, as some had suggested.

Zofran, while wonderful at controlling nausea, did terrible other things to my body. The constipation was so bad that I was consuming 40 grams of fiber in food each day, while taking psyllium husk supplements, and every couple of days I'd still have to take milk of magnesia to manage to do number two in 30-45 minutes. Truly miserable. For the silver lining, though, I figured I got an opportunity to practice my birthing visualizations and relaxing my pelvic floor and pushing out those enormous "butt babies." Seriously, they were so big I couldn't flush them.

My goal was a birthing center birth, so that meant I had to be "low risk". I was, however, automatically "high risk" because I'm over 35. And then I had GD, and found out that if I had to be medicated for it, that would move me up the risk ladder enough that the birth center would have to transfer me elsewhere. So, I controlled that GD with diet. It was hard, but I learned so much about what kinds of things made my body more resistant to insulin, so in addition to what I ate, I controlled my stress levels (through deep breathing, yoga, exercise, reduced hours at work, etc.). It was exhausting, but I was sure it would be worth it.

And then I up and delivered little Caleb at 32 weeks. No warnings from my body, just POP! goes the membranes, and out comes a baby, three hours later, leading to a lovely 40-day NICU stay. I could get all I-didn't-get-the-birth-experience-I-was-looking-for here, but that's not really it. It's just part of how bad I was and this whole pregnancy thing -- I couldn't even carry to close to term.

So, here I am, 8 weeks along, massively nauseous and hating my body for doing this to me. Again. I have some Zofran leftover from Caleb, so I've taken a few doses to keep from descending into the crappiness that I dealt with before. I've given up on any thought of a birthing center birth or a low-risk pregnancy. I'm hearing the same song and dance about low progesterone, and expect to be on the suppositories by week's end. But I'm hoping -- hoping!! -- that we'll see/hear a heartbeat on ultrasound later this week, and looking forward to starting to look forward to this little baby, even with all the ickiness and such that is certain to be my path for the next 5-7 months.

 And since no one has told me otherwise, I'm eating goldfish for an afternoon snack. I already had mac and cheese for lunch. So sue me. I'm going to survive pregnancy as well as I can until it becomes the miserable hell that I know is coming.

Dealing with Uncle Z

So, my brother-in-law is driving me crazy. We call him Uncle Z, and he's RB's only brother. Sigh.

A little background. When RB and I started dating again (that's another story for another day), things were fun and carefree between us. RB was living in Dallas and I was living in Austin, so one of us would make the trek, and we would enjoy an immensely fun weekend of lazing by the pool, eating great food, and watching movies. When we'd been dating for about 4 months, I went to Dallas for RB's birthday. The sixth Harry Potter movie was coming out that weekend, so I went up on Thursday, and both took Friday off to celebrate with a long weekend. We went out for sushi, and were ecstatic to go to bed late and know that we could sleep in like slackers playing hooky. Instead, we got a call at 6:30am from an old girlfriend of Uncle Z that he had shot himself and was at the big trauma hospital in Houston. Uncle Z posted his suicide note on Facebook for the world to see (do you know that it's impossible to get anything changed on someone else's Facebook page if you don't have their password?), so there was lots of conjecture and rumors going everywhere. Regardless of the lack of speaking, RB was obviously upset. The hospital had no record of Uncle Z coming in, their mom was heading down there, and the police wanted to talk to someone and turn over the gun to someone in the family for safe-keeping. So, he headed to Houston, eventually found his brother, was there for a week and every weekend for 3 months after that. He paid his brother's bills (including a mortgage that was 4 months behind), spent a ton of time with him and their mother, and worked with several friends to clean up the blood at the house and to fill in the holes in the walls/ceiling (he fired at least 3 rounds). Once Uncle Z was released from the hospital, he went to live with his mom, and has lived there for about 3 years now.

So, Uncle Z has some depression issues, and he's generally not a very nice person (part of why the brothers had stopped speaking years before). He's aggressive, mopey, completely unappreciative of anything anyone does for him while simultaneously being pissed when he doesn't feel like his gestures are appreciated enough (which they never are). He's miserable, and expects everyone to make every effort to make his life better. He's had 2 contract jobs since the attempt -- he ruined the first by using copyrighted material in a website that got the merchant sued and is currently ruining the second by being massively over budget and behind on every deadline since the first week. He hates his mother, so at least once a week, RB is playing mediator between the two of them (sometimes I take on the role of calming down the mom while RB takes on Uncle Z -- it's draining). At least once a month, Uncle Z can't handle his mother anymore and comes and stays with us for a week (that's my limit -- I don't care what kind of awful person that makes me, I WILL NOT have that man living with us -- he can be homeless, as far as I'm concerned). When he visits he brings his ornery dog, a rat terrier that loves to growl and snap at Caleb. So he gets to be locked up in his kennel or be outside when they come. Cause, well, this is Caleb's house, and he's not going to be pushed out by any visitors' dog.

The thing that has me worked up right now, though, is that he is now bailing on coming to our crawfish boil this weekend (we're having a crawfish boil this weekend! Woohoo!), because his mother is staying with us Friday to Sunday, and my parents are staying with us Sunday through Tuesday, so we don't have anywhere for him to stay with us. We told him this at least a month ago, and he's got friends in Austin (that are also coming to the boil, so we know they're in town), but rather than calling them and asking if he can crash there, he's now saying we didn't really want him to come, so he's throwing a 40-year-old man tantrum. That's the best way I have to describe it. Every time my family comes to town, I have to make them stay in a hotel, because Uncle Z and my mother-in-law can't figure out how to do that. I refused to do that this time. I gave everyone ample time to figure it out (heck, Houston isn't even that far -- he could drive in Sunday morning and drive back that evening -- it's only 2-2.5 hours!), so I hate being made out to be the bad guy just because he's wanting to be a small child. He comes by this behaviour naturally. Their dad hasn't been in our lives because he doesn't feel that RB really "meant" the invitation to the wedding, so he's been pitching a fit ever since. Has never met his only grandchild, though we've invited him to the Bris and the baptism, and we send him pictures. I guess the apple (Uncle Z) doesn't fall far from the tree (father-in-law).

Oh geez. This was quite the rant. All this to say, it's very tiring, though there's a tiny part of me that's happy I may not have to deal with him this weekend (but only tiny, because he will make us pay for us making him feel "unwelcome"). I know you don't marry a person, you marry their family. And believe me, this family gave me pause. But we will get through this, too. RB is so incredibly patient with his brother. I've been studying the book of James with my women's Bible study group, and I keep being reminded of James 1:2-4:

Consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance. Perseverance must finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything.

I know we're being readied for a strong-willed teenaged (or earlier) Caleb or some other patience-trying fun. The "completing" process, though, is really no fun and is never complete. I want to get to that not-lacking-anything place, but I'm not sure that I can survive the refining process. And I'm having trouble finding the joy in this trial.

I know, I know

Yes, I am a slacker. I don't mean to be, but I am.

Turns out I'm having trouble fitting in the things I *want* to do with all the things I *have* to do. So, something has to move around and make room.

I'm making room.

I have tons I want to write about. Partly because there is lots of stuff that I need to get out of my brain and process on a screen, but also partly because I need to re-find my way to what kind of blogging I will do now that my life is rather different in many ways.

Here goes nothing.

Reintroducing Myself

Since I was away for a while, I was thinking that I kinda need to do a reintroduction to myself. And since I just had to do this Get To Know You type exercise, I thought I would share the results here.

What is your favorite color? Why, yes! Every shade of blue IS my favorite color! Except when I'm also loving green and red. Or purple. But never pink. There is no such thing as a good shade of pink.


What is your favorite season? I love summer with all my heart. And I live in Texas, so I get a lot of summer. I love the hot, hot, hotness of summer. You know when you walk out into the hot day and you practically get knocked over by the heat wave that hits you? I love that. I go running in that. And to the pool. And I eat ice cream.

What is your favorite treat? Cheetos. I love salty things, and Cheetos are my biggest weakness. So much so that I try not to buy them, because I just will likely eat the whole bag in one sitting.

What is your favorite scent? I love unsweet smells -- rain and baby powder and cucumber and mint and mild flowers like freesia and lavender.

What is your favorite ice cream coping mechanism? Mint chocolate chip. Mmmmmmmmm.

What do you like to do in your free time moments? What is free time? I like to cook and scrapbook and crochet and journal. I also run and hike and swim. Who am I kidding -- I try to stay on top of baby laundry and keep the baby puke in my hair to a minimum.

What do you not enjoy doing, and why, but have to do anyway? I really hate cleaning. I have to break cleaning tasks into 15-minute chores and give myself a treat at the end of them in order to ever make progress on the house.

If someone gave you money with the instruction that you had to spend it on something frivolous for yourself, what would you buy? I would probably get a massage or a pedicure.

Do you have any decorating themes in your home/office? I don't know how to decorate, and had never considered themes. Go figure.

Is there something that you REALLY, REALLY like? Sushi!

What is the VERY! BEST! present you have ever received and why was it the best? My parents gave me a leather computer bag when I first became a manager. I could just imagine my mother standing in the store putting them each over her shoulder and trying to pick JUST the right one. It was awesome to have them celebrate an achievement of mine with me.

Who's The Big Baby?

I am blessed beyond measure, and there are so many reasons why I was so close to not having what I have today. Caleb was so early, that if he'd been born 50 years ago or in a country with less fancy medical care, he would be dead. During my pregnancy, I had low progesterone, and required supplements in order to keep him around and growing. The previous pregnancy wasn't so lucky. How did I convince RB to marry me? And move to Austin? And love me when I was going through the mental torment that was getting divorced? And it keeps going. But mostly, my days are just stuffed full of feelings of overwhelming thankfulness that all those turns came together to give me what I have today.

And so, I've become that person that cries at the drop of a hat. Movies that used to make me reflect now make me boo-hoo all over the place. I rewatched the last Harry Potter movie recently, and the whole Snape retrospective just made me bawl my eyes out. The heartwarming stories in an issue of Reader's Digest cause me to tear up. And then, most recently, I was rocking Caleb to sleep with some music on a random setting, and "Puff, the Magic Dragon" queued up. If you haven't heard this song before, here it is for you:

So, in the third verse, after Puff and Jackie Paper have been having a frolicky good time for years, Jackie no longer has the time or imagination for Puff.

A dragon lives forever but not so little boys
Painted wings and giant rings make way for other toys.
One grey night it happened, Jackie Paper came no more
And puff that mighty dragon, he ceased his fearless roar.

And that verse just got to me. The idea that a little boy would grow up and cease to care about his dragon and that dragon would lose his will to be dragon-like? Heartbreaking. My little Caleb will grow up to not have time or interest in his momma and this perfect family we've got going on here? No way. Can't even imagine that.

Next Steps

GB and I have decided to get a divorce. Not terribly surprising, I suppose, but a difficult decision nonetheless. There are lots of logistical decisions yet to be made, and we'll work through them. In the meantime, I'm very much at peace with this first decision in the process. I'm not precisely sure what direction this little spot on the internet will take. But, then, I'm not real sure which direction my life will be going. Perhaps you'll come along for the ride?

Thoughts on the New Year

I really wanted to write a good ring-in-the-new-year post. One of those that looks back at the completed 2008 fondly and looks forward to the new 2009 with hope and excitement. Except I couldn't do it. I'd rather just pretend the day never happened, and that I'm suspended in 200x. Time will resume when I know what's going on.

Marking a new year is supposed to be a time for resolutions and planning. At least that's always how I've used it. Unfortunately, at this particular calendar page turn, I can't really set goals very far into the future. I have decided to do a half-marathon in February, but after that, things get a bit hazy. At least I know that the end of 2009 will be more settled than the end of 2008. I don't know what it will look like, but I won't be in transitional housing and I will be able to move forward. I'll either be single (or in the process of a divorce) or I'll be reconciled, but it will nice to be out of limbo.

I just have an over-developed planning gene, and I can't use it. Actually, that's not completely true. I have been running through possible scenarios for the future so much over the last couple of weeks that I'm all trained up for the thirteen miles next month. I just have to work through the possible scenarios in my head, so I can know how to deal with them if/when they come up. One of my favorite defense mechanisms is having decisions made ahead of time, so I can have my response all planned up. Otherwise the stress of the surprise is paralyzing. I hate being caught off-guard with bad news, so the vast majority of the scenarios are the worst possible things I can think could happen. Something about knowing how I would handle those things allows me to know that I could handle them, and that makes them easier. So, the converse is that if I haven't thought about it ahead of time, when the bad-thing-I-never-imagined happens, then I'm not sure I can make it through it. Wow. It sounds really pathetic when I explain it that way. Conveniently, I feel pretty pathetic these days.

So, while I don't want to talk about the separation, I also don't have the drive to write about much else. You've probably noticed I never got around to the stories of the roommate interviews or the encounters with/observations of people on the bus. It's not because they were't interesting. It's more because I would type up one line of post, and then I couldn't make myself type any more than that, and it's hard to tell a story in one sentence or less. I have been writing a lot in my personal "journal", just nothing I can really post here at this time.

I hope you all had less conflicted and complicated new year's transitions.

The Dealio

GB and I have separated. Since his job is in Santa Barbara, it made sense for him to stay there. The corollary to that is since my job is in Austin, it made sense for me to come here, not even pointing out that the cost of living for finding a cheap place to rent is way more reasonable in Austin than in Santa Barbara.

The short version is this: We're working on our relationship. Separation is not a marital death sentence. I'm fine, and I don't really want to discuss it any further at this time. Thanks for your concern.

Now that the albatross is flying (or some other mangling of that heavy metaphor), I plan to get back to regular posting of various things, including the people I have interviewed to select a room to rent and strange stories from riding the bus to work each day. I just love to people watch.

Mother-in-Law Visit Number Two

This weekend we were visited by my mother-in-law, her husband, and another couple they were traveling with. They were here just two days and stayed in a hotel instead of with us, and it made the whole visit so much more pleasant.

There were still comments I didn't know what to do with. I like to have ready-made retorts to use, because I'm not particularly witty in an off-the-cuff conversation. In elementary school, people would call me the standard "four eyes" and I would let them know I have six, which usually took them aback and shut them up. But do you answer "You're too skinny," with "Thank you" or "I really do eat, I promise"? It's one of those comments like another one I got recently -- "You were too young when you got married." If you leave out the "too" in either comment, it becomes non-confrontational and almost a compliment. With it, though, it carries a judgmental tone of "what could you possibly be thinking" that I just don't get the point of. Oh well, that's just one of those things I'll likely have to deal with the rest of my life. There's a good chance I'll stay thin and I'm pretty sure I'll be married for a long while. Any witty comebacks I can put in the back of my mind for future occurrences of these phrases?

Other than the random comment about my size repeated five times in two days that led to awkward silences on my part, it was a really nice visit. Saturday night I made onion tartlets followed by salad with homemade basalmic vinagrette culminating in pork tenderloin with skillet roasted new potatoes and a roasted corn/leek/bell pepper succotash-y thing, which was all really good. I'm not sure what sort of crazy confidence comes into play to make a strict recipe-follower like me decide to make something new and untested and straight out of my brain for guests, but I'm glad it worked out.

Anyway, I was just glad that this visit went so much better, and didn't make me contemplate murder or the ripping out of hair. Maybe there's hope for me, yet.

My Favorite Day

In case you're not aware, my favorite day that I will ever live to see is today. August 8, 2008 -- 08/08/08.

I absolutely love the number 8. Besides the fact that I have Chinese roots, and 8 is the number of prosperity in the Chinese culture, there are so many other reasons to love the number.

I have previously indicated how big a nerd I am based on my love of numbers. 8 is no exception to that fun. Somewhere along the way, I recall a card game where you turn over a card with a number in it. You have cards in your hand that contain numbers and operators, and you have to put down a combination of cards that will result in the target number, with the object to get rid of all your cards faster than anyone else. So, for example, if the target number was 13, you might put down the five cards that go with 7 x 2 - 1. Along the lines of that game, with 8 as the target number, here are some fun little calculations.

I'm 32. Take 32 x 2 (the cubed root of 8) and you get 8 squared.

My street number is 2680. Rearranging the digits, that's 2 + 6 + 0 = 8

Yes, it's true. I'm a nerd. Regardless, I just can't help the octophilia that I've come down with. I've always loved 8, (don't you love how you can turn it on it's side and get the symbol for infinity? No? That's just me?), so this day is pretty darn cool. And I like today more than 08/08/88, even though that had more 8s, because of all the pretty symmetry on today's date.

Annoyed

I am finding myself massively annoyed at everything around me lately. Maybe it started with the visit of the mother-in-law. But, then again, maybe I was already in annoyed-land before she came.

The week before she came, I think I must have been short on the phone with Blind Date #4, because now she won't return my calls. I'm not sure what I said, but I do know that when I'm in business mode I really shouldn't answer the personal call, unless things are really slow (which they were not). I didn't follow my own rule, and I must have messed that one up.

You already know how quickly (one weekend) I got to the point that everything that my mother-in-law said annoyed me. Some of you have already weighed in that I was out of line with that annoyance.

This week I was annoyed when I had set up appointments to meet with a few contractors after work, and then they either came early or called and wanted to chat for a while about it ahead of time, when I was in the middle of a busy work week, and couldn't really rush down and answer the door at 1pm or whenever it was. I found myself wanting to make a big sign that says "Working from home is not the same thing as not having a job."

We found out that the account we set up for our trash collection was, apparently, never set up. So I called to try and correct the issue, and the lady on the other end just kept using phrases like "Well, since you never called about this..." and "Since you didn't have it switched from the previous owner...", and I was quite unable to keep from being snippy at this person calling me a liar.

I don't want to be like this. I don't want to be a person that everyone avoids and is afraid of dealing with. I don't want to have a reputation as a loose cannon that you never know what you're walking into (though I'm pretty sure I already do). And I don't know why I'm feeling like this and acting like this.

Do you ever have days (or weeks) where you just can't keep your cool? What do you do to regain your composure? I need some ideas. The people around me will thank you for them.

More to Learn, Eh?

I stole this meme from Niobe. The rules aren't too hard:

1. Click on this link. The title of the page is the name of your band.

2. Click on this link. The last four words of the final quotation on the page are the title of your album.

3. Click on this link this link. The third picture is your album cover.

4. Take the pic, add your band name and album title.

I'm not particularly artistic, but I do like the result I came to:

It's pretty basic, so I'm not too sure why I like the end product so much. I think I like how the album title is almost nestled in the safest part of the flower, just waiting to be pushed out into the crazy world. I feel that way, sometimes, in my more depressed and sentimental moments. And I can imagine that I have enough of those to make a whole album from them, were I able to write music.

I would love to see the results of anyone that does this -- include the link in the comments, or if you just can't add two lines of text to a JPG, include your resulting band and album names in the comments, instead. I hope most of you that read this will participate. What if I say, "Please"? Please?

Lo5tr0c%$

I recently changed my main password at work, so I can now share what my last one was. The title of my post is the password I used to get into my computer, several tools I use frequently, to get to about 3 other computers that I use regularly, and to get my email over the web. Not surprisingly, I typed it a lot. And every time, it made me smile. I know that's not a password's job. It's supposed to be secure, and I darn well think it succeeded. However, this password is a morphed version of:

LOST ROCKS!!!!!

So that's what I thought everytime I typed it, and that made me happy to think about. That password almost lasted me the full season, and I appreciate that happy spring pick-me-up that I've had.

Season 3 started to drag a bit, but season 4 has made up for it with a vengeance! There is a whole lotta story left, and just two more seasons. Can you tell I'm going to be in Lost withdrawal when I have to wait until the next season starts? Well, I will. Check in on me periodically -- I may have to write some of my posts from the Santa Rosa Mental Hospital if things get too bad!

New Name for the Crazy Sister

I definitely know people that know my family well, and for those people, I refer to my sisters by their names. However, for the many people with whom I speak that do not know my sisters, I have descriptive monikers for them instead -- they are my crazy sister and my baby sister. For a long time, it was just "my sister" and "my baby sister", but then the middle child embarked on a set of life experiences that deemed a new adjective appropriate for her.

The crazy sister has been through some drama in her life. She's testified at felony court martial proceedings, had a nine-month marriage involving restraining orders, spent time in nearly all Austin-area medical hospitals, gone to four different colleges, went missing from jobs and apartments, etc., etc., etc. I can't even begin to try to count the number of wallets/sets of keys/cell phones she's lost to have people throwing irresponsible in with the crazy. She's the kind of girl that, while not being the cause of all the drama around her, is certainly a magnet for cases of the crazies.

However, as she's grown up and matured in the last seven years since she enlisted in the Navy, she has really not had a crazy moment that I can point to in the last several years. They decided she'd make a good officer, and this weekend I was in North Carolina to celebrate with her as she graduated cum laude with a Nuclear Engineering degree and was commissioned as an Ensign in the Navy with orders to report to her ship in Pearl Harbor, Hawaii, in June. We had a wonderful weekend, including a graduation party she threw for all of the NE graduates, a spa day to celebrate our mother, and absolutely no scheduling snafus. Nice stuff. I'm proud of her, and all that she's come through to get to this major milestone this weekend.

So, it feels like I need to come up with a new name for her than "Crazy Sister". I could call her the "Navy Sister", but crazy was just so colorful that it was fun. I think that's why I kept using it while she was getting less and less crazy all the time. I'm sure it would help me remember that she's not so crazy if I quit calling her that, though, so I guess I should change it in my personal vocabulary.

If any of you hear me refer to her as the crazy sister in the future, please remind me she's no longer crazy.

Stolen Meme

I've gone to stealing memes from other people. I took this one from George. Here are the nitty gritty details of this meme that I stole.

Here are the rules:
A) The rules of the game get posted at the beginning.
B) Each player answers the questions about himself or herself.
C) At the end of the post, the player then tags five people and posts their names, then goes to their blogs and leaves them a comment, letting them know they’ve been tagged and asking them to read your blog.

1) Ten years ago I was...

Stressing about my Complex Variables class, wondering whether I would get to graduate. To add to that stress, I was also finalizing the craziness on my fast-approaching wedding. Why I ever think I'm stressed now, I just don't know.

2) Five things on today's to-do list:

Get a customer's import working once and for all (it's been marginally working for several years)
Clean both bathrooms in preparation for being out of town next week
Change the utilities over to our names from the previous owner
Clean up the kitchen
Run a 5k

3) Things I'd do if I were a billionaire:

Reduce my job to part-time (I still have to do something with my brain to keep from going insane!)
Pay the house down significantly
Buy a Tesla Roadster
Find groups that are doing good alternative energy research, and donate time and money
Go back to school for a completely different career

4) Three bad habits:

Only three?!?!?!?

Biting my nails
Getting down on myself
Leaving the dirty dishes for the next morning

5) Five places I've lived:

Only five?!?!?!?!?

Hong Kong; Barrio Magsaysay, The Philippines; Ames, Iowa; Austin, Texas; Fort Wayne, Indiana

(I have quite a few more, but these are the ones you get.)

6) Six jobs I've had in my life:

Nursery worker, waitperson, summer camp counselor, tech support manager, math department grader, customer service representative.

I have more of those, like the one I have now, but hey, the meme only asks for six. Meanwhile, I tag James, Monica, Stephanie. I also think Cat and Rosa should do this, and even though I don't have a blog to link to, y'all can do this in the comments. Shouldn't take too long!

My Husband and Privacy

My husband (let's call him GB), has an overdeveloped conspiracy gene. I had a boss many years ago that woud spout off these theories from way out in left field (his one about how the sniper in DC some years back was actually a mercenary of the US government planted there so they could declare a military state is one that comes to mind). I would bring these home and share them, and GB would chime in, "Well...you know, that might not be that far off."

He is a technophile, but won't pay bills online. He's convinced that there would be a breach of security and our number would be used by everyone and their dog. He freaked out when I was buying things online before he'd gotten a chance to research a company and their security methods. Every once in a while he mumbles something about a manifesto and moving to Montana and living like a hermit.

When he found out that I use my real name on my blog, he lectured me on the need for anonymity in this internet world. Because there aren't, you know, a gazillion Heathers out there in the world. But see, he knows I have a tendency to share too much. Sure I've had bad experiences (stolen credit card numbers, threatening phone calls, house eggings, car keyings, attempted break-ins), but I've had significant good experiences in life to feel optimistic about what I share on the internet. Like the time I told a church member that I would love to play French Horn in the church brass group, but I just couldn't afford to buy one, and wouldn't you know she had one sitting in her closet at home waiting for one of her boys to want it. Or the time I shared I would cook something different every day for a month and got invited to write my first feature article for an actual printed publication. Plus, I don't generally think people are out to get me, which is likely the primary difference between GB and me.

Meanwhile, last year he saw his name in a couple of early posts, and nearly went ballistic. DIDN'T I UNDERSTAND THAT HIS NAME NEXT TO MY NAME NARROWED THE FIELD OF WHO WE ARE DOWN TO A MUCH SMALLER NUMBER??? Well, yeah, but most of the people that read this set of drivel are people I know in real life. Or at least the ones that comment. And others are such regular commenters that I feel like I do know them. But, since I'm apparently supposed to be afraid of all of you if I put GB's first name on here, I decided to come up with that nickname for him. See, typing the word "husband" is exceptionally tedious and lends to very poor sentence construction around any reference to him. So, I'm done with that. He will be referred to as GB, and for those of you who know his real name, I would appreciate it if you wouldn't cause panic in our household by using his actual name in the comments.

It took me a surprisingly long time to come up with a nickname for him, considering GB is short for the most common thing I call him. Creativity has never been something I've been particularly good at. I can brainstorm with other people towards a good result, but I can't really do it on my own. I've tried and it's always a really bad attempt. GB thinks all blogs should be completely fictitious. Or at least mine should, anyway (you know, so that way I don't give out any real details). Essentially, I should make up a persona and write entries from this completely other point of view that I should inhabit as wholly as possible. And that sounds much too much like a novel or creative writing or some other thing that sounds like a pretty daunting thing to attempt. How would I keep my lies straight? I've never been good at that. On the other hand, there are topics I could feel a lot more comfortable writing about if no one I knew was reading. So maybe it's worth a try. But if I do that, don't expect me to ever link off this one to the other.

Non-Standard Cell Phone Uses

I know cell phones are primarily for talking to people that are somewhere else, but golly gee whillickers, they have some fancy other uses. I'm sure others of you have used them for clocks (who wears a watch anymore?) and for alarms (who travels with an alarm clock or wants to depend on the one in the hotel room?).

But do you use yours as a flashlight? I do. Every morning I get up, get dressed in the dark, so as not to disturb the sleeping husband, grab my phone off the nightstand, and step into the dark house that exists outside of the bedroom at five o'clock in the morning. It's a scary place, and I don't keep it as picked up as I should. To avoid stubbing my toe and making all manner of loud noises that would undo all the quiet dressing I did moments before, I open my phone and let the soft blue backlight lead the way to my upstairs office.

Any odd uses you put your phone to?