A cross-section of what's currently honking me off:
People's Energy is at it again. Despite their alleged "policy" that they don't disconnect customers for late payments from November through April, and despite the fact that I've paid them nearly $500 within the past 30 days, they are threatening to disconnect me unless I pay them $441 by the end of the week. "That is our policy," said the collections woman, when I pointed out that it is still March, "but we have waived that policy since the weather has been cooperative." So what--we have a few nice days, and suddenly it's anarchy?
I have heard nothing from HUD. Meanwhile, the roof which before I moved into this house, was certified as "sound" and "containing at least 3 years of useful life" has been removed and replaced. According to the contractors, the layers of old roofing were about 12 inches deep, and all the rafters beneath were bowed downward due to the enormous weight of the accumulated wood and tar. The roof of the addition was completely rotted and so, in addition to new gutters and downspouts, in addition to the new roofing material, I have had an entire new underlayment, and FOURTEEN new rafters. But somehow HUD doesn't think this case is worth their attention....At least someone's benefitting from it; there's a guy outside as I type this, picking through my dumpster for wood to burn.
I have heard nothing from Tim. My new windows will be delivered within two weeks, and those cats need to be GONE. I am not going to attempt to spend the entire duration of the window removal and replacement making sure that dumb-ass Cassidy doesn't launch his portly ass through one of the openings--I'm just not. It's now going on eighteen months since I had these cats thrust upon me, and there is no end in sight. I sent him a rather bitchy e-mail pointing out that I haven't heard from him since NEW YEAR'S, despite the fact that he now has a job and an income. I am fed up with him, to say nothing of his stinky cats.
My mother, my cat, and I all have colds. Mom's got it the worst, followed by Whitey; I've just got a sore throat. But Whitey's vet is all the way up in Skokie, which means a long Saturday morning ride to find out why the big guy is all sneezy. Poor kitty. And poor Mom, as well; a "little" cold isn't so little when you're nearly 77 years old.
I cannot personally bitch-slap Jack Johnson. I have, in the past, liked exactly one of his songs--"Sitting, Waiting, Wishing"--but any tolerance I had for the man evaporated the other night as I pulled into a parking lot and heard the chorus of one of his songs. Let me make this perfectly clear. "Bubbly toes" is not a phrase that should EVER enter the mind of a normal adult male, at any time, for any reason. Much less should that male then formulate an entire SONG around this phrase. I realize that my focus on this fragment of the song is perhaps unnatural, but seriously. Bubbly. Toes. What the hell were you THINKING, man???
Chloe Dao still won Project Runway. This continues to be a big WTF for me. That pink dress doesn't get any uglier the more you look at it.
That covers the bulk of the stuff that's making me mad at the moment. Thank god for reality TV, fleece blankies, and vanilla milkshakes.
Updated! because I discovered/remembered two more:
I am now OFFICIALLY sick. Hacking, snorting, snotting, the works. Minor fever. Dammit, I do NOT get sick, and this is TWICE in one season that I've picked up a cold from this diddly-danged office and its horde of pathogen-bearing cubicle-squirrels!
(probably the biggest annoyance of all) The Worst Commercial Ever. Can I confess something here? When there's nothing else on TV, or I'm between shows, or I just want some background noise, I've taken to changing the channel to the new "Sprout" cable offering. Sprout is a channel that shows nothing but PBS kids' cartoon shows, 24 hours a day. And I LOVE me some PBS cartoons. Yes, yes, I know that's odd for a 35-year-old woman, but I find them comforting somehow. They're full of the lessons I was never taught: believe in yourself, it's okay to make mistakes, stand up for what's right. They make me happy, and damn, I could use some happy. But there is a fly in this ointment: The Commercial. The Commercial is played about 15 times in the course of an evening, which would be irritating even if it wasn't the Worst Commercial Ever. The Commercial is for Huggies, and it features a little blond-haired baby boy whose thoughts are given voice...and the voice they're given is that of a half-drunk, muscle-bound, steroid-addled lunkhead frat-boy. The first words of this commercial are enough to send a bolt of hate-inspired adrenaline up my spine and send me scrambling for the remote: "UhhhOOH yeahhh, DIS is whut I call a DY-purr..." It goes on from there. "Hey moooom, can I git a personal trai-nur?" God. HATE. The voice is so exaggeratedly dumb, so intentionally annoying and STOO-Pid, that it sets my teeth on edge every time I hear it. I want to go to the ad agency responsible for this travesty, find the "creative" whose concept this was in the first place and the executive who gave it approval, and knock their heads together so hard their ears stick. I want that cute little blond-haired baby to grow up and sue Huggies for defamation of character, pain and suffering, and intentional infliction of emotional distress, and win enough money to put the company out of business forever. For every time this commercial is shown, I want to dump a hundred used Huggies at the doorstep of the Kimberly-Clark executive offices. That's how much I hate this commercial. (I'm apparently not the only one, either; I mentioned it in passing to my mom the other night, and she said "Oh, I HATE that commercial!" So I guess it's annoying across all key demographics. Great job, Huggies guys...)
I think that's it for now, but by all means, feel free to add your own!
Wednesday, March 15, 2006
Tuesday, March 14, 2006
Okay, Now I'm Sad.
I loved "Press Your Luck"; it got me through many hours of babysitting as a young teen. So it made me very sad to read this story.
(However, it has also made it very difficult to leave the very obvious "whammy" reference untouched.)
(However, it has also made it very difficult to leave the very obvious "whammy" reference untouched.)
Sunday, March 12, 2006
Spring (Admittedly False)
Even though I KNOW it's barely mid-March, even though I KNOW it'll probably snow within the week, or freeze, or whatever, that is doing exactly NOTHING to blunt my enjoyment of the absolutely GORGEOUS weather we've had this weekend. Even the thunderstorms have been gorgeous. If my USB hub was working, I'd upload pictures of my crocuses, which have been poking their heads out for weeks now and which have now flowered--they're close to the house and get all the warmth that seeps out, so they're a few weeks ahead of the real weather.
The plans on the house have been finalized, and I have to say I'm a wee bit disappointed; all I can afford this time around is the new roof and new windows. And I know those are HUGE things--thirteen custom-made windows especially--but I'll admit I was hoping for something more tangible--something pretty. I guess that will have to wait til the next trip through. I -am- going to repaint the bedroom, though, once the new roof is in. And I think--LJ be damned--I'm going to make it girly. Every time I go to Target, when I go through the bedding and housewares section, I'm drawn to the Shabby Chic stuff--eyelet and flowers and pretty things. When I visualize my future, that's the sort of house I see. (Actually, when I visualize my future, lately I'm living in a farmhouse in the middle of nowhere, or a house like the lake house my friends and I used to go to when we were in college. But that's another story--as much as I love the city, I don't think I'll be a city-dweller for my whole life.)
I had an appointment with Dr. J yesterday, and she finally suggested that I think about antidepressants. She said I seemed very depressed--more than usual--yesterday, which was true; I've had a very rough week, emotionally, and there's no easy explanation for it. Even my dreams have been more vivid than usual, and not necessarily in a good way. I just feel really...OLD, and behind the curve, personally and professionally. Even though I don't regret the things I've done, I've just been wishing I could go back and start all over again, like at birth--with a different set of parents who could see all the options life had to offer, and who would be equipped to teach me that. I don't think my parents ever did anything because it was what they WANTED to do; it seems like they made all their major life decisions because they were "supposed to" or because they felt they didn't have any other choice. And no matter what they SAID to me about "you can do anything you put your mind to", their example was markedly different. Dr. J asked me yesterday if maybe I'd created a script for my life where I saw myself as the victim; I said I don't THINK so, and if I did, it was certainly not a conscious choice and it's definitely something I want to change--but also, a lot of these things have to do with what I was taught about myself when I was a kid, and when you're a kid you ARE a victim, really. You're subject to the whims and ideas of all the adults around you, and frankly, I feel like the adults in my life let me down in many ways. Sometimes I feel like I'd have turned out better if I'd hatched out of an egg. I don't blame my parents--they had their own baggage to deal with--but there were a lot of other inconsiderate, rude adults who I'd like to go back in time and have a word with. Aunts and uncles, coaches, Girl Scout leaders, teachers--all the people who are supposed to watch out for kids and help them develop--a lot of these people let me down, even made things worse.
And yes, I'm an adult now; and yes, it's my place to overcome all these things and steer the course of my own life--and I try to do that. But lately I've been wondering what I might have become if I'd gotten a different start; if I'd learned to believe in myself and trust my own abilities and instincts, if I'd been given some idea of the opportunities that were available, if I had been allowed to stand up for my own opinions instead of being taught that I was the last one to consider, that everyone else's ideas and wants were more important than mine--I wonder what I could have accomplished by now. I wonder where I would be if I hadn't made some of the stupid decisions I've made with money, giving things to people to get them to love me because I'd absorbed somehow the belief that it was the ONLY way they ever would. I don't think of myself as a victim, or at least, I TRY not to; but I feel like I'd be so much different, so much better, if anyone had let me believe that I was important and worthwhile.
Anyway, I agreed to try antidepressants; however, to get them, I have to make an appointment with my primary physician, since Dr. J doesn't prescribe, apparently. (I can never keep track of which doctors can prescribe and which can't; it's like the difference between stalactites and stalagmites. You know it's probably easy to remember if you have the right trick, and you know that SOMEONE knows the difference, but you also know that "someone" is not you.)
I hope the medication helps, anyhow; I'm especially tired of having no motivation to get anything done. Especially when there's plenty I could be doing, it seems like a huge waste of time to not feel like doing anything.
The plans on the house have been finalized, and I have to say I'm a wee bit disappointed; all I can afford this time around is the new roof and new windows. And I know those are HUGE things--thirteen custom-made windows especially--but I'll admit I was hoping for something more tangible--something pretty. I guess that will have to wait til the next trip through. I -am- going to repaint the bedroom, though, once the new roof is in. And I think--LJ be damned--I'm going to make it girly. Every time I go to Target, when I go through the bedding and housewares section, I'm drawn to the Shabby Chic stuff--eyelet and flowers and pretty things. When I visualize my future, that's the sort of house I see. (Actually, when I visualize my future, lately I'm living in a farmhouse in the middle of nowhere, or a house like the lake house my friends and I used to go to when we were in college. But that's another story--as much as I love the city, I don't think I'll be a city-dweller for my whole life.)
I had an appointment with Dr. J yesterday, and she finally suggested that I think about antidepressants. She said I seemed very depressed--more than usual--yesterday, which was true; I've had a very rough week, emotionally, and there's no easy explanation for it. Even my dreams have been more vivid than usual, and not necessarily in a good way. I just feel really...OLD, and behind the curve, personally and professionally. Even though I don't regret the things I've done, I've just been wishing I could go back and start all over again, like at birth--with a different set of parents who could see all the options life had to offer, and who would be equipped to teach me that. I don't think my parents ever did anything because it was what they WANTED to do; it seems like they made all their major life decisions because they were "supposed to" or because they felt they didn't have any other choice. And no matter what they SAID to me about "you can do anything you put your mind to", their example was markedly different. Dr. J asked me yesterday if maybe I'd created a script for my life where I saw myself as the victim; I said I don't THINK so, and if I did, it was certainly not a conscious choice and it's definitely something I want to change--but also, a lot of these things have to do with what I was taught about myself when I was a kid, and when you're a kid you ARE a victim, really. You're subject to the whims and ideas of all the adults around you, and frankly, I feel like the adults in my life let me down in many ways. Sometimes I feel like I'd have turned out better if I'd hatched out of an egg. I don't blame my parents--they had their own baggage to deal with--but there were a lot of other inconsiderate, rude adults who I'd like to go back in time and have a word with. Aunts and uncles, coaches, Girl Scout leaders, teachers--all the people who are supposed to watch out for kids and help them develop--a lot of these people let me down, even made things worse.
And yes, I'm an adult now; and yes, it's my place to overcome all these things and steer the course of my own life--and I try to do that. But lately I've been wondering what I might have become if I'd gotten a different start; if I'd learned to believe in myself and trust my own abilities and instincts, if I'd been given some idea of the opportunities that were available, if I had been allowed to stand up for my own opinions instead of being taught that I was the last one to consider, that everyone else's ideas and wants were more important than mine--I wonder what I could have accomplished by now. I wonder where I would be if I hadn't made some of the stupid decisions I've made with money, giving things to people to get them to love me because I'd absorbed somehow the belief that it was the ONLY way they ever would. I don't think of myself as a victim, or at least, I TRY not to; but I feel like I'd be so much different, so much better, if anyone had let me believe that I was important and worthwhile.
Anyway, I agreed to try antidepressants; however, to get them, I have to make an appointment with my primary physician, since Dr. J doesn't prescribe, apparently. (I can never keep track of which doctors can prescribe and which can't; it's like the difference between stalactites and stalagmites. You know it's probably easy to remember if you have the right trick, and you know that SOMEONE knows the difference, but you also know that "someone" is not you.)
I hope the medication helps, anyhow; I'm especially tired of having no motivation to get anything done. Especially when there's plenty I could be doing, it seems like a huge waste of time to not feel like doing anything.
Friday, March 10, 2006
I'm A Dork
...but I am hooked on this game. It's updated once a day, and it's gotten to the point that it's the first thing I do when I sit down at the computer in the morning.
My best time (not to brag) is 43 seconds. (I won't mention my worst.)
My best time (not to brag) is 43 seconds. (I won't mention my worst.)
Thursday, March 9, 2006
Prrrrrrt?
Okay, it's now OFFICIALLY official:
I do not understand "fashion".
Granted, my sartorial choices illustrate this fact very accurately, but hey, who knows--I could have been an eccentric artist type hiding my light under a bushel--you know, Vera Wang in an oversized gray sweatshirt. Right?
Well, last night proved it, if further proof was needed: I don't get it. I don't understand how a team of non-blind individuals can look at this collection and find it superior to this collection or (especially) this collection. (I couldn't STAND Santino through most of the show, and I thought some of his designs were just scary, but the first half of the finale totally redeemed him in my eyes. Furthermore, his final collection is absolutely GORGEOUS and I couldn't believe the judges were so dismissive.) I thought based on the final collections alone, Santino came in first, Daniel second, Chloe a distant, DISTANT third. Her collection was all shiny and poofy and unwearable--who WEARS that stuff? Seriously. Look at the pink thing on the first screen--Who on earth would wear that grotesque, puffy, oversized Mylar ballon of a dress? In PUBLIC??
Throughout Project Runway I've repeatedly liked the worst-reviewed designs, or the ones derided as "safe" or "boring". Invariably, the highest-ranked looks have just left me scratching my head--how would you WALK in that? wouldn't that ITCH? The only designer whose stuff I consistently liked was Daniel, and I thought for sure he was going to win it. And even though Santino spent most of his time being a butthead, based on his final collection, I would have been happy if he won it. But CHLOE??? I liked a couple of her outfits, but this last collection was just awful...or at least, awful from my point of view, which is obviously untrained and clueless.
Daniel, Santino: you were robbed, guys.
Now, if anyone needs me, I'll be matching a striped shirt with plaid pants, or something.
I do not understand "fashion".
Granted, my sartorial choices illustrate this fact very accurately, but hey, who knows--I could have been an eccentric artist type hiding my light under a bushel--you know, Vera Wang in an oversized gray sweatshirt. Right?
Well, last night proved it, if further proof was needed: I don't get it. I don't understand how a team of non-blind individuals can look at this collection and find it superior to this collection or (especially) this collection. (I couldn't STAND Santino through most of the show, and I thought some of his designs were just scary, but the first half of the finale totally redeemed him in my eyes. Furthermore, his final collection is absolutely GORGEOUS and I couldn't believe the judges were so dismissive.) I thought based on the final collections alone, Santino came in first, Daniel second, Chloe a distant, DISTANT third. Her collection was all shiny and poofy and unwearable--who WEARS that stuff? Seriously. Look at the pink thing on the first screen--Who on earth would wear that grotesque, puffy, oversized Mylar ballon of a dress? In PUBLIC??
Throughout Project Runway I've repeatedly liked the worst-reviewed designs, or the ones derided as "safe" or "boring". Invariably, the highest-ranked looks have just left me scratching my head--how would you WALK in that? wouldn't that ITCH? The only designer whose stuff I consistently liked was Daniel, and I thought for sure he was going to win it. And even though Santino spent most of his time being a butthead, based on his final collection, I would have been happy if he won it. But CHLOE??? I liked a couple of her outfits, but this last collection was just awful...or at least, awful from my point of view, which is obviously untrained and clueless.
Daniel, Santino: you were robbed, guys.
Now, if anyone needs me, I'll be matching a striped shirt with plaid pants, or something.
Thursday, March 2, 2006
You Like Me! You Really Like Me!
Okay, I have now found my TWENTY-TWO missing comments, and I thank all of you...
...Except Blogger. Because Blogger??? SUCKS.
Dear Blogger: I did NOT, at any time, for any reason, turn on freaking COMMENT MODERATION!!! So WHY exactly you felt it was necessary to tuck two weeks of comments off in the corner so I couldn't find them....
Bad. Very bad. ARGH.
If I knew how to deal with Wordpress, I'd move to my own domain in a minute. But I've played with WP a little bit, and it's WAAAAY complicated. Maybe if I'm feeling ambitious someday, but not at the moment....
Anyway...Thanks for the comments! Stoopid Blogger....
...Except Blogger. Because Blogger??? SUCKS.
Dear Blogger: I did NOT, at any time, for any reason, turn on freaking COMMENT MODERATION!!! So WHY exactly you felt it was necessary to tuck two weeks of comments off in the corner so I couldn't find them....
Bad. Very bad. ARGH.
If I knew how to deal with Wordpress, I'd move to my own domain in a minute. But I've played with WP a little bit, and it's WAAAAY complicated. Maybe if I'm feeling ambitious someday, but not at the moment....
Anyway...Thanks for the comments! Stoopid Blogger....
Okay, SERIOUSLY Now.
Seriously, are you all gone?? I haven't had a comment in WEEKS and I'm wondering if anyone's still reading!
I refinanced the Catastrophe last night, with much trepidation; my mortgage payment went up about $300 and I'm really nervous. But I'll be getting the roof, the windows, and the doors replaced, which should bring the energy bills down and increase the value of this rattletrap; and they paid off one of my more irritating bills--the loan I took to pay that jackass Bob the Plumber. AND, it's going to give me a chance to finally get rid of my houseguests, who wore out their welcome long, long ago...even though I love them to pieces and will actually miss two of the little bastards when they're gone. (I will NOT miss Cassidy. Cassidy BIT me the other day.) I haven't heard from Tim since New Years', and I am QUITE pissed that he hasn't called to tell me what's going on with him.
Work has been fairly horrid, and I'm thinking seriously about looking for something else in a couple of months. It's not that I don't like the people, but they continually ask me to do the impossible with no instruction whatsoever, and it's starting to grate on me. If they would give me some training, send me to a class, whatever--that would at least HELP. But it's not happening. Really, I don't want to work for anyone else anymore, which is a sure incentive to get the bakery going, but I'm completely apathetic right now. Doctor J says that apathy is just another symptom of my depression, which she agrees is pretty severe--"when the tears are always that close to the surface," she says, "that's a sure sign that the depression is pretty strong. And when you're that depressed, you're not going to be very task-y." Which is an understatement--I've got no drive whatsoever, which also explains the relative silence of this blog. I'm okay, but I'm not good...and really, I'm not even okay. I'm functional, but that's about it. And I want to do something about it, because this really isn't any way to live, not really. I feel like my REAL life ended in 1995, and all I'm doing now, all I've been doing since then, is just playing out the string. And that's a pretty sorry way to feel when you're 35 years old.
One of the things Dr. J is surprised about is how much guilt I feel about everything. She commented on it when I said I felt guilty because I don't feel the kind of loyalty and devotion to my mother that I think I should. I tolerate her, and I feel like I ought to be much more of a dutiful daughter--that I shouldn't feel like it's an imposition to talk to her every day, or to see her on the weekends. Dr. J said "I think it's surprising that YOU feel guilty, and SHE'S the one who's spent your whole life criticizing and manipulating you. " (She pulls no punches as regards my relationship with Mom; after hearing some of the childhood stories, Dr. J seems to be of the opinion that much of my low self-esteem can be traced back to Mom's doorstep. I'm inclined to be a little more forgiving, but in some ways I'm not sure that isn't half of the problem.) I wish I could feel something else; I wish I could be angry at the things that have happened to me, or sad, or sorrowful, or anything. Instead I've concentrated on making myself as invisible and inoffensive as possible to the outside world, making no demands of anyone and apologizing at every turn for the audacity of being alive. It gets old fast, you know? Feeling like you've got no right or reason to ask anything of anyone, that the best you can hope for is to stay out of the way and not make a nuisance of yourself...That's no way to live.
I just wish I could stop it.
I refinanced the Catastrophe last night, with much trepidation; my mortgage payment went up about $300 and I'm really nervous. But I'll be getting the roof, the windows, and the doors replaced, which should bring the energy bills down and increase the value of this rattletrap; and they paid off one of my more irritating bills--the loan I took to pay that jackass Bob the Plumber. AND, it's going to give me a chance to finally get rid of my houseguests, who wore out their welcome long, long ago...even though I love them to pieces and will actually miss two of the little bastards when they're gone. (I will NOT miss Cassidy. Cassidy BIT me the other day.) I haven't heard from Tim since New Years', and I am QUITE pissed that he hasn't called to tell me what's going on with him.
Work has been fairly horrid, and I'm thinking seriously about looking for something else in a couple of months. It's not that I don't like the people, but they continually ask me to do the impossible with no instruction whatsoever, and it's starting to grate on me. If they would give me some training, send me to a class, whatever--that would at least HELP. But it's not happening. Really, I don't want to work for anyone else anymore, which is a sure incentive to get the bakery going, but I'm completely apathetic right now. Doctor J says that apathy is just another symptom of my depression, which she agrees is pretty severe--"when the tears are always that close to the surface," she says, "that's a sure sign that the depression is pretty strong. And when you're that depressed, you're not going to be very task-y." Which is an understatement--I've got no drive whatsoever, which also explains the relative silence of this blog. I'm okay, but I'm not good...and really, I'm not even okay. I'm functional, but that's about it. And I want to do something about it, because this really isn't any way to live, not really. I feel like my REAL life ended in 1995, and all I'm doing now, all I've been doing since then, is just playing out the string. And that's a pretty sorry way to feel when you're 35 years old.
One of the things Dr. J is surprised about is how much guilt I feel about everything. She commented on it when I said I felt guilty because I don't feel the kind of loyalty and devotion to my mother that I think I should. I tolerate her, and I feel like I ought to be much more of a dutiful daughter--that I shouldn't feel like it's an imposition to talk to her every day, or to see her on the weekends. Dr. J said "I think it's surprising that YOU feel guilty, and SHE'S the one who's spent your whole life criticizing and manipulating you. " (She pulls no punches as regards my relationship with Mom; after hearing some of the childhood stories, Dr. J seems to be of the opinion that much of my low self-esteem can be traced back to Mom's doorstep. I'm inclined to be a little more forgiving, but in some ways I'm not sure that isn't half of the problem.) I wish I could feel something else; I wish I could be angry at the things that have happened to me, or sad, or sorrowful, or anything. Instead I've concentrated on making myself as invisible and inoffensive as possible to the outside world, making no demands of anyone and apologizing at every turn for the audacity of being alive. It gets old fast, you know? Feeling like you've got no right or reason to ask anything of anyone, that the best you can hope for is to stay out of the way and not make a nuisance of yourself...That's no way to live.
I just wish I could stop it.
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