I don't know that I have always been afraid of doctors.
Actually, I don't think I was as a child. I remember I once went to the doctor because I had been complaining of a stomach ache. When I told the doctor I was pregnant (at probably age 7), my mom was very annoyed.
But at some point in my life, I realized that:
A. Doctors can't fix anything. More people die in hospitals than anywhere else.
B. They like to chop shit off you.
C. They are horrifying.
There is something utterly creepy to me about emotionless, robotic medical staff poking and prodding you in places that no one should poke or prod. And then, to ratchet up the horror a notch, when you scream out in agony, their only response is, "Hang on. Almost done."
It is little better than torture. And the devices they use... needles, scalpels, probes... Gah! It is a freaking horror flick inside every scarily sterile doc office in the world!! Don't get me started on hospitals...
And all of it, as I said, in a place that is almost scarily sterile. And yet not if you think about blood spatter, germs, did they wipe the counter down after the last person was in here with the plague or god knows what...?
The only reason I EVER agree to see doc pirate (my doc for over a decade) for myself is that he is human and talks to me and knows me (and knows that by profession alone I find him horrifying.)
The reason he is my doc now is that when he WASN'T my doc, I kept rescuing my oldest son from his circumcision. Doc Pirate was the doc on call. He came in my room and talked to me for 2hrs (part of which was while the actual surgery took place.) He answered questions, chatted, kicked his feet up on my bed and became a real PERSON. Which removed SOME of my emotionless robotic fears from him. Other docs and nurses... yeah, terrifying to me.
I can't be the only one afraid of the medical field that keeps me alive. Anyone else out there find them scarier than a King book?
Amusing Facebook ad of the day: Read a mans mind... click here!
A. Why do you think that ad is something I would be interested in, Facebook? What choices have I made in the past to lead you to give me that ad?
B. How hard can it be to read a straight mans mind? Bacon-good. Breasts-good. The question, "What are you thinking?" Bad.
See? I am well on my way to manly mind-reading, no clicking required.
C. No, that wasn't sexist. I can do straight woman as well. Chocolate-good. Sleep-good. Thor's 3d nipples-good. "I think we should talk..." Bad
Which all got me to thinking... I haven't done a list in awhile.
So, here is a list of the things no one wants to hear, regardless of their sexual preference.
(Insert drumroll...)
5. It isn't you, it's me.
This is the line of douchebaggery that is only given when the person saying it doesn't even care enough to give you the actual reason they are not interested. Basically, what they are really saying is, "I can't even come up with one reason...there are so many!" Or maybe they are saying, "If I tell you why, you will try to fix it. And I don't want that." But instead of being honest and saying either of those things so you can correct whatever they think you did in future relationships with less douchey people, they give you the generic you/me speech.
Great responses to this line:
1. You're right. It is. You suck. 2. Which part of you? I do have a list of your flaws so if you could pick the ones that we're talking about, I could agree with you. 3. Well, of course it isn't me.
4. I think we need some time apart.
What they are really saying is, "I want to bang someone else." Or maybe, "I am banging someone else." And they are also saying, "But I want you as a spare tire just in case it doesn't work.
Great responses to this line: 1. Yup. Like forever. 2. I always thought your brother/sister was hotter anyway. 3.What is his/her name?
3. I think we should talk...
If you catch this one before they can finish the sentence, it is awesome. Because, yeah, what they are saying is, "I am about to try to let you down gently."
Great responses to this line: 1. Nothing. Walk away 2. We don't have to. Let me grab your XBox for you. 2. Do you really see this working x years in the future?
What they are really saying is, "I don't see this working. So if you do, lemme know how."
Great responses to this line: 1. Nope. But I was trying to settle for less than I am worth. 2. I honestly believe that the world is going to end in October. So... uh, we are probably good for about that long, right? 3. Nah, but you are pretty good in the sack.
1. I hope that we can stay friends.
What they are really saying is, "I really hope that you will stay my spare tire. I mean, there may be a dry spell in the future and, in that case, I wouldn't mind trying this again... you know, until I find the Right One. Because I know you aren't it but I am sure we could string this out for the next decade or ten, right?
Great responses to this line: 1. If it is over, it's over, cupcake. 2. I enjoy stabbing myself with sporks... staying friends with you and loving you while you go on with your life sounds equally painful. Let's do it! 3. I have lots of friends. None of them have shagged me and left me. So, uh, pass. But thanks.
I think of you often. What might have been sort of things. Who would you have become? How many lives would have changed? Would we still be friends?
I think we would have. You were one of those people who stick around for a lifetime.
Most of the time, thinking of you makes me smile. If my son picks up his legos (which he is OBSESSED with) or if he starts telling me important stuff about Star Trek (for his birthday one year, he just wanted to go to the movie Star Trek, nothing else. If you were here, I would have called you, I think. Like my son, you would have told me to shhhh when I shouted out, "Look, It's Bones!"), I am reminded of you. Because, well, you would have liked him. He is a pretty cool kid.
But then again, you were the coolest kid I ever met. So, yeah, that is probably why I think you would have liked him.
Every year on Valentine's Day, I really think of you. The weight is heavier and a little harder to bear. It has always seemed unfair to me that you are gone and I am still here. You knew and saw so clearly the path that was meant for you.
I muddled around in the dark, sort of lost and confused. So although I have done some good stuff, you would have cut a swath in darkness. You would have changed lives just by being here.
It doesn't seem fair, really, because there is so much you didn't get to do.
I am going to see the ocean this year. I have always wanted to but for some reason never made it. I have lived an adventure so far. Sometimes I feel like... I dunno. Even if you didn't get to do everything, I should. Like the more I see and do, maybe it adds up somewhere and balances all the stuff out that you would have done.
It really isn't fair. I remember that was my main thought when you left. It wasn't fair. I yelled at God. I mean, if God had a clue...if God really did exist, obviously he should have kept you here. You were so damn good that it was like there was light pouring out of you.
Me? Flawed. A mess. If there was a God and he wanted to change things, wouldn't you be a far better tool than me, the red hot mess?
I don't yell at God anymore. But, well, I hope that you can hear me.
I hope that you are happy. I hope that you are near. I hope that the others I have lost are somewhere around you and maybe you are all shaking your heads at what a ridiculous train wreck my life is and wondering, "What is she gonna do next?" with smiles on your faces.
Because of you, I kind of have to believe that there is something after we die. Because if there isn't... well, I can't accept the fact that you would just GO or stop or whatever. So, you must be there and there must be more.
Anyway, I just wanted to say, "I miss you." And that I am thinking of you.
Today, the kids got into a bit of a heated debate. I advised that they look it up. Yeah, as a parent, this kind of is the catch-all answer to debates but it got me thinking...
When the kids were debating whether a woman could actually walk around all day and not know she was stabbed or if a man could be beheaded on an amusement park ride and no one says anything...
Why do we want to believe wonky shit like this?
It isn't just kids, either. I have heard rational, intelligent, well-read adults spout some amazingly stupid shit and look at me and say, "Well, I saw it somewhere."
Or, "Jim said it happened to his cousin. So, well, you know it is true."
We have all heard of urban myths--lies that are commonly held as true because enough people have repeated them. Or old wives tales. Call them what you will, I still get enough people sending me pictures of children who are suffering from cancer who honestly believe that facebook will give the kid money needed for surgery if we just share the picture.
Which, by the way, is a hoax. And cruel. If you a. Believe that this family benefits from you sharing a picture of their child suffering b. That sharing it on facebook is giving them money or c. you are doing something good, you've been had.
But why do we as human beings WANT to believe the wonkier shit?
I think it boils down to the same reason that I can write a heartwarming story about a vampire or a zombie and have the reader emotionally involved in the plot even when they realize that this person does not exist.
(Although for some reason, if I write a menage, you all think I have been having an exciting weekend. Because, well, y'know I can't have made that up.)
We love a good story. We love to feel like we are part of the story. A piece of humanity is the love of being storytellers.
Does this mean I am not annoyed that the kids believed that a person had their head chopped off on a ride and that it only rolled off his shoulders once the ride stopped?
Uh, no.
Does this mean that I am happy to share that picture of the kid that you share on my facebook wall?
No, dammit. Stop doing that shit.
But it does mean that I get why you are doing it.
And it is a really good thing.
Because it also means that when I write a story about an alien who loves nothing more than to come to earth to fuck a woman, just one woman, who coincidentally was the one woman in the whole universe meant for him...
I saw a post on YouTube today which probably would piss a lot of people off.
I loved it.
See, I am one of those parents. I have really high expectations for my kids. Rules... yeah, we have those. In our house, my kids are really familiar with me saying this:
Your job is school. If you are failing at school, you aren't doing your job. If I don't do my job, I don't get paid. As a kid, your pay is going places, hanging out with friends and getting the random crap you want. As a parent, I am required to provide food, a roof, clothes for each day of the week and that is it. Everything else-bonus. If you want the bonus, do your job.
They aren't fond of that particular speech.
Another wild and crazy thing I am fond of reiterating in my house is that my kids should do chores. Back when I was a kid, we loaded wood for our wood burning fireplaces. We planted corn when our parents bought the farm. We cleaned out cow shit from the barn. Most of those jobs sucked ass.
I expect my kids to clean their rooms. If they have an F on their report card, they get dish detail. (Since one or the other kid usually gives me an F, I haven't had to do dishes for awhile.) My middle son is on garbage duty once a week. I expect them to put away the clothes I clean and fold for them. Once a week, we clean house. I expect them to vacuum and such.
I think that doing chores around their house teaches them to respect their belongings. Perhaps that is wrong. Maybe I am mean.
I don't care. It is the value system I was raised on. I have grown up to be a self-motivating person who wakes up and is driven to succeed. If I can instill some of that in my kids, awesome.
They think I am really mean. I chatted with my sons teacher today on the phone and explained that although I would love him to intervene and help my son, if my son doesn't clean up his act grade-wise, there will be repercussions. No movies, no slumber parties, no camp this summer if he doesn't fix it before break.
Someday, I hope they will thank me. Maybe they won't. But I want for them to grow up and be able to survive in a world that isn't going to hand shit to them just because they walk in the room. I want them to know how to work hard and that working hard will get you what you want. I want them to respect their possessions and respect themselves. I want them to understand the value of learning, so learning reaps rewards in my home.
The video that spurred this blog was from a man, self proclaimed hard worker, who has a teenager who went to the internet to rebel. She was complaining because he expected her to be a responsible child, much like I expect my kids to be.
His response was beautiful.
If you haven't seen it, check it out.
It may piss you off.
But I gotta say, in my opinion, if more people stopped worrying about being judged...if more people just did what they knew was needed even if it wasn't always the popular thing, we might not live in a world so easily swayed by the popular opinion. I have often faced censure from various members of the family that didn't agree with how I choose to raise my kids but my answer usually annoys them further. You raise your monsters your way, I will raise mine my way. You see, my kids might grow up to be axe murderers. Or cure cancer. Or be hobos. I have no way of knowing if my way of doing things will work or not.
But the people in my generation, raising kids around the same age as my kids, don't have any idea if their way is going to work either.
And having met some of the kids that are my age... well, dammit, the generation before was kind of hit or miss as to whether their method worked as well.
So, judge me if you will but at the end of the day, they are my kids to mess up. I am the one who is going to have to pay the bail if my way doesn't work. And if my way works, I am the one who gets to be proud as punch.
And although I can't afford to do what this guy did... I gotta say, I liked his method. And my kids did not. What are your opinions?
Someone said something stupid to me so in true blogger fashion, I am calling their ass out on the internet.
Because I can. Yes, you readers have given me that power. Thanks. *throws hard candy at readers*
Someone said to me that it is sad that authors of today are leaving behind no record of their lives. In the days of Michelangelo, we have reams of notes that he left behind. In other days of yore, we had letters that prolific authors sent to the people they loved, wanted to sleep with or otherwise felt the need to communicate with. But authors of today... well, they will be lost to the sands of time with no record for future generations to mull over.
Um. Hi. This is a blog. A lot of authors have them. We also have computers. Just because we aren't sticking stamps on letters that take us hours to write (because we have to write it, blow the ink dry before we can move on, possibly blot a bit... realize we made a mistake and start the whole damn thing over...) doesn't mean we aren't leaving a record for future generations.
If anything, we are leaving the most detailed record of all time. We not just tell you what we are thinking about (including politics, sex, writing, religion, current events, our love lives, child rearing, etc.) we also tell you what we are eating (often including pictures), where we go (again with the pictures) and what we thought about all that. The digital age has allowed us, for the first time in history, to literally document every second of our lives, no matter how unimportant, through a series of blogs, facebook and twitter updates, foursquare checkins and other social media outlets.
If, years from now, for some reason I become someone that a kid wants to write a paper on, they will have an ABUNDANCE of information about me. More than anyone would ever in a million years want.
How on earth can anyone suggest that the modern author is getting lost in the sands of time?
Or the modern anything? If you want to write a biography on any famous person, now is the time to do it. You can just follow them on all those media outlets I mentioned and wait for them to do something wonky.
This leads to people who have never met me thinking that they know me very well. And although they know some eerie details, they don't know ME. I mean, I am a hermit. The me they see is out there for the public to see. The real me... well, I am hiding behind this blue computer. Sort of like the wizard of Oz but with coffee. Lots of coffee.
I have no clue why this bothered me so much but I just wanted to mention to the public at large that you can see inside peoples lives in a way that no other generation could have dreamed of. And yet, for some reason, the feeling is that this age is being 'lost.'
Because it isn't on paper.
Really, I don't know why this bothered me so much but really it did. Anyway, I am off to eat some crazy imported chocolates. It turns out, from my experimentation, that 99% cacao includes very little sugar and is bitter as hell. And that the worlds best chocolate is ok. So far, though, I am most impressed by the Dutch coffee/chocolate hard candies and the New Hampshire chocolate. Go figure.
(See, you even know my chocolate preferences. Someone, quick... put it on paper.)
For years, my one goal has been to reach a place of economic stability. Not to be wealthy. Just not to panic every moment of every day. Not to stress every time a bill comes in. Not to go without car insurance for a week or two because who will ever really know...
To reach my goals, I enlisted the help of one of my bestest friends. Although I like the nice things in life, I hate math. Hate. Loathe. Detest.
There seems to be a hell of a lot of math involved in budgeting. And dieting. So I don't do either activity if I can help it.
For the first time since she took over my money matters, she ran the numbers and I have hit a plateau of financial stability.
I am not sitting in the green, mind you. I still have no retirement savings, no long term guarantees but for the first time...
Not in the red.
I am firmly in the black.
And I look around my house today and it looks the same as it did yesterday when I didn't know that I had achieved my goal. (Well, with the addition of a laser printer... See yesterdays blog to understand the massive coolness of a laser printer. Ah, to be able to print at high speed wirelessly...*sigh* authorgasm)
We still can't go out and spend like loons. (Which means I am still stalling buying a new bulb for the aquarium. I mean, the fish don't NEED to see where they are swimming, right?) But this year, I don't have to panic and stress. I can fix the stupid chuggy van. (Not saying I will, but I can.) If one of the kids has a growth spurt, there is a budget set aside to get clothes and not panic. If the zombies attack, I can afford to go grab some bottled water and ammo. Stuff like that.
I have hit my goal.
Instead of feeling like I should crack open a bottle of wine and celebrate, I am feeling a little deflated. It's like, before I had a goal and I was steadily able to work towards it. I knew exactly where I wanted to be. I wasn't shooting for castles in the air, just a nice moderate goal.
And now that I have hit it, my engine is at idle and I am looking around at the still choppy seas of life, undecided on what I want to make my next goal.
I have always wanted to go to Ireland...
What goals have you set for yourself and when you meet them, has anyone else ever felt... meh about reaching the finish line?
