Crap I hate:
1. Halloween. It is for children. Costumes make me feel stupid, and if intelligent life were watching us from their spaceships, they'd think we'd lost it.
2. Adults doing crap that is supposed to be for kids, in general. Dressing up, twee bows, professional cheerleaders for pro sports teams, playing video games, collecting dolls. (I'm looking at you, Marie Osmond)
3. Overly creepy costumes for kids. There is no need for an Xtra small brain-eating, bleeding face, machine gun toting zombie ghost guerrilla. Stop it. You're giving them nightmares.
4. Trunk or treats. Wha? If you're gonna do it, do it right. Piss off the curmudgeonly neighbors (like me) and eat the candy that does not, I promise, have razor blades in it. Or drugs.
5. "Sexy Costumes." Nobody looks good enough to wear them, they are not actually costumes, and they make you look like a whore. So, just go as a whore.
Monday, October 31, 2011
Friday, October 28, 2011
F-R-I-E-N-D special
I've been thinking a lot about friendship lately. I have more people to call friends now than I ever have before. Even the smattering of friends I used to see and do things with regularly are still friends now, thanks to Facebook. I still get to see their lives, their kids, their pets, and visit with them. Even if it's only in short paragraph form.
And here in Mobile, thanks in part to my kids and M's work, I have a gaggle of friends. And such variety, and I love that. I've never been popular or had a crowd, but I certainly have a gaggle now! We do all sorts of fun stuff, too--we walk, we lunch, we work out (only if CiCi REAALLY wants to test me), we volunteer at the school, we have sleepovers, drinks, manicures, spa days (only when I get CiCi to STOP working out), and I really am lucky.
I've got friends from here (unlikely, but true), friends from up north, friends from elsewhere in Alabama. M's work friends are more serious, and I try to be more formal with them (they may or may not be responsible for tenure, and since I never know who may be and who may not be, I try to behave.) Funny friends, friends who only laugh politely, girly friends, and no-nonsense friends. If I were EVER to feel like calling some one, I have a long list where I could start.
I like the way some friends kind of fall away for a while, but can pick up again like I saw them yesterday. Yesterday, I walked with MK for an hour and though I haven't visited with her in nearly a year, and as it turns out, her calm and measured personality (and very brisk walking tempo!) really brought some sense to my world.
Thankfully, I don't really have to pretend to be nice to people anymore. My kids have their own friends, so I don't need to befriend women for their kids. My peops like/tolerate me as I am. Crazy as hell, but loyal and honest. Not the worst combination.
I think about my kids and how sometimes, they'll tell me about their friend Blahblah. Who's Blahblah I ask them. My friend from camp on the cruise we took two years ago. Friend? A four day friend? But that kids use the word so freely, "Will you be my friend?" is kind of fantastic. Their fickleness, despite the pettiness, is kind of amazing, too: "He's not my friend anymore because he thinks Mario is for babies." And how they compartmentalize everyone, "my friend from preschool doesn't know my friend from art." And how anyone can be a friend, "is it ok if we play with the kid of that guy who's at the neighbor's fixing a fence?"
Boys don't have friends for connections, popular or not, if the kid is nice and likes whatever my kids like at the moment, he's golden. S had a friend over on the weekend, and it was sweet. "Do you like this Lego ship I built?" "Yah, I like the windshield," "Yah, I thought you'd like that." It was so straightforward and fun, and what friends should be. Is it because the stakes are lower? What are the stakes of grown up friendships? Why do they matter more to some people than others? Why are some friendships like great jeans, all broken in and comfy, from the get go? Why do some never evolve past the itchy and stiff stage?
I miss some friends from far away and long ago, WB comes to mind immediately. Long after our spouses went to bed, we'd stay up and drink and talk about anything, (mainly our spouses). He's really my best man friend. I miss some friends nearby and recently. It's like repellent force fields invisibly sprung up around us, and we can no longer connect. I'm confident the situation is temporary, but nonetheless, it's sad. Facebook has helped me (strangely) get to know people I should have been better friends with when we lived near one another, (Arkansas, I'm lookin' at you). I missed her, and thus some of the potential of our kindred spirits.
Rambling. Rambling. It's early, in the day, but late in the essay, and I still have no thesis statement. Perhaps: Y'all know who you are. I love seeing those of you I do nearly every day. I miss those of you I don't, and before the total insanity of the holidays starts (November 1, traditionally), we all need to take a day to reconnect, ok?
And here in Mobile, thanks in part to my kids and M's work, I have a gaggle of friends. And such variety, and I love that. I've never been popular or had a crowd, but I certainly have a gaggle now! We do all sorts of fun stuff, too--we walk, we lunch, we work out (only if CiCi REAALLY wants to test me), we volunteer at the school, we have sleepovers, drinks, manicures, spa days (only when I get CiCi to STOP working out), and I really am lucky.
I've got friends from here (unlikely, but true), friends from up north, friends from elsewhere in Alabama. M's work friends are more serious, and I try to be more formal with them (they may or may not be responsible for tenure, and since I never know who may be and who may not be, I try to behave.) Funny friends, friends who only laugh politely, girly friends, and no-nonsense friends. If I were EVER to feel like calling some one, I have a long list where I could start.
I like the way some friends kind of fall away for a while, but can pick up again like I saw them yesterday. Yesterday, I walked with MK for an hour and though I haven't visited with her in nearly a year, and as it turns out, her calm and measured personality (and very brisk walking tempo!) really brought some sense to my world.
Thankfully, I don't really have to pretend to be nice to people anymore. My kids have their own friends, so I don't need to befriend women for their kids. My peops like/tolerate me as I am. Crazy as hell, but loyal and honest. Not the worst combination.
I think about my kids and how sometimes, they'll tell me about their friend Blahblah. Who's Blahblah I ask them. My friend from camp on the cruise we took two years ago. Friend? A four day friend? But that kids use the word so freely, "Will you be my friend?" is kind of fantastic. Their fickleness, despite the pettiness, is kind of amazing, too: "He's not my friend anymore because he thinks Mario is for babies." And how they compartmentalize everyone, "my friend from preschool doesn't know my friend from art." And how anyone can be a friend, "is it ok if we play with the kid of that guy who's at the neighbor's fixing a fence?"
Boys don't have friends for connections, popular or not, if the kid is nice and likes whatever my kids like at the moment, he's golden. S had a friend over on the weekend, and it was sweet. "Do you like this Lego ship I built?" "Yah, I like the windshield," "Yah, I thought you'd like that." It was so straightforward and fun, and what friends should be. Is it because the stakes are lower? What are the stakes of grown up friendships? Why do they matter more to some people than others? Why are some friendships like great jeans, all broken in and comfy, from the get go? Why do some never evolve past the itchy and stiff stage?
I miss some friends from far away and long ago, WB comes to mind immediately. Long after our spouses went to bed, we'd stay up and drink and talk about anything, (mainly our spouses). He's really my best man friend. I miss some friends nearby and recently. It's like repellent force fields invisibly sprung up around us, and we can no longer connect. I'm confident the situation is temporary, but nonetheless, it's sad. Facebook has helped me (strangely) get to know people I should have been better friends with when we lived near one another, (Arkansas, I'm lookin' at you). I missed her, and thus some of the potential of our kindred spirits.
Rambling. Rambling. It's early, in the day, but late in the essay, and I still have no thesis statement. Perhaps: Y'all know who you are. I love seeing those of you I do nearly every day. I miss those of you I don't, and before the total insanity of the holidays starts (November 1, traditionally), we all need to take a day to reconnect, ok?
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
Talking to myself
I don't know what's wrong with me. It's not hard to post to notCinnamon: it's not like I'm not at my computer 13 hours a day. I'm here, it's my homepage, and yet....the thing is this. You know before call waiting, the predicament you'd feel about answering the phone? It could be your best friend with unexpected shopping cash, it could be your ex boyfriend (bad news), it could be Ed McMahon with 2 million dollars (probably not). Before call waiting, did you answer?
I seem to have inherited my dad's hatred for the phone. Which is funny, because if you've ever talked to me on the phone, it's because I REALLY wanted to talk to you. And we probably talked for a long time, right? Maybe even past the point where you wanted to talk to me? Probably.
The rest of the time, I avoid the phone. I will text. I will email. It's not personal. It's not you, it's me. Seriously. A lot of the time, I don't even bother to see who's calling. It's just that I'm not talking. Horrible. Especially now, with Facebook, and cellphones, and smart phones and IM'ing, and ohmygod instant communication...I don't communicate sometimes. Usually I get in this rut for extended periods of time. I just won't talk to people. I'm not in a hole or anything...I'm shopping, I'm cooking, I'm showering and grooming myself. I'm just not able to make a phone call. Can't do it.
Is this weird? I have no idea. Do other people do it? Hard to know. What branch of crazy, exactly, is this? Dunno.
But, it's like that with a blog entry. A blog entry, for me, anyway, is an extended conversation. I'm telling you what's going on. It's hard, sometimes, to construct that conversation. Some one recently told me that they like my blog because it's written like I talk. (Wait, is that a compliment?!) But it is, and the style isn't an accident. I talk as I write. Is it funny? Is the timing right? Is it like banter? Banter is hard to write in a one-way conversation, but I sometimes imagine it, work on it.
When it's going well, I love it. I could blog every hour. I could tell you a million stories. Good ones, too.
But when I don't want to talk. It's agony. I look at notCinnamon and see the last entry was nearly a month ago, and I just open a new window. It's not like stuff isn't going on. We've ALWAYS got action over here. But turning our chaos into a story is something that can't be done right now.
It makes me sad. I know it makes my fans mad. All three of them.
In an effort to make the gaps less glaringly obvious, I've decided to change the format of my blog somewhat. I'm going to post things that make me laugh, that I'm doing, that I see, even if those things aren't accompanied by a story, an entry, a conversation. Most of the time, the format will stay the same, but I'll be more diligent if I go back to posting something (ANYTHING!) every day. Imagine the format is like Facebook + Pinterest + notCinnamon = More than you cared to know + crap you don't care about + the occasionally hilarious me.
It's JulieMath. It's about as close to real math as I can get.
So, as I go to start dinner, I'm going to end this message. More than anything, this post, unlike others, is a monologue. I hope you're okay with it. I'll be back. I haven't forgotten. I just can't talk right now.
I seem to have inherited my dad's hatred for the phone. Which is funny, because if you've ever talked to me on the phone, it's because I REALLY wanted to talk to you. And we probably talked for a long time, right? Maybe even past the point where you wanted to talk to me? Probably.
The rest of the time, I avoid the phone. I will text. I will email. It's not personal. It's not you, it's me. Seriously. A lot of the time, I don't even bother to see who's calling. It's just that I'm not talking. Horrible. Especially now, with Facebook, and cellphones, and smart phones and IM'ing, and ohmygod instant communication...I don't communicate sometimes. Usually I get in this rut for extended periods of time. I just won't talk to people. I'm not in a hole or anything...I'm shopping, I'm cooking, I'm showering and grooming myself. I'm just not able to make a phone call. Can't do it.
Is this weird? I have no idea. Do other people do it? Hard to know. What branch of crazy, exactly, is this? Dunno.
But, it's like that with a blog entry. A blog entry, for me, anyway, is an extended conversation. I'm telling you what's going on. It's hard, sometimes, to construct that conversation. Some one recently told me that they like my blog because it's written like I talk. (Wait, is that a compliment?!) But it is, and the style isn't an accident. I talk as I write. Is it funny? Is the timing right? Is it like banter? Banter is hard to write in a one-way conversation, but I sometimes imagine it, work on it.
When it's going well, I love it. I could blog every hour. I could tell you a million stories. Good ones, too.
But when I don't want to talk. It's agony. I look at notCinnamon and see the last entry was nearly a month ago, and I just open a new window. It's not like stuff isn't going on. We've ALWAYS got action over here. But turning our chaos into a story is something that can't be done right now.
It makes me sad. I know it makes my fans mad. All three of them.
In an effort to make the gaps less glaringly obvious, I've decided to change the format of my blog somewhat. I'm going to post things that make me laugh, that I'm doing, that I see, even if those things aren't accompanied by a story, an entry, a conversation. Most of the time, the format will stay the same, but I'll be more diligent if I go back to posting something (ANYTHING!) every day. Imagine the format is like Facebook + Pinterest + notCinnamon = More than you cared to know + crap you don't care about + the occasionally hilarious me.
It's JulieMath. It's about as close to real math as I can get.
So, as I go to start dinner, I'm going to end this message. More than anything, this post, unlike others, is a monologue. I hope you're okay with it. I'll be back. I haven't forgotten. I just can't talk right now.
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
What's grosser than gross?
In the overall scale of kid grossness, I suppose snot is at the bottom, or lowest gross factor, and botfly would be at the top, or so revolting that it's better just to toss out the kid than to deal with the botfly. Not that my kids ever have had botfly, but I've got YouTube, and I'd sooner get rid of my kid than hold a steak to his head to lure out maggots.
That being said, ringworm has to fall somewhere in the top half of the grossness scale. Thankfully, it's not actually a worm, because worm is dangerously close to maggot of botfly. But, it IS a nasty, flaky inflamed, scaly relative of jock itch, athlete's foot and fingernail fungus. And by fingernail fungus, I mean those yellow, crumbly nails that you always see at Disney World on people who haven't worn flip flops in a decade, and decide to trot out their beauties just in case Prince Charming wants to slide a glass slipper on their calloused, rotten toe-nailed, bunion-having piggies.
S has recently contracted ringworm.
That being said, ringworm has to fall somewhere in the top half of the grossness scale. Thankfully, it's not actually a worm, because worm is dangerously close to maggot of botfly. But, it IS a nasty, flaky inflamed, scaly relative of jock itch, athlete's foot and fingernail fungus. And by fingernail fungus, I mean those yellow, crumbly nails that you always see at Disney World on people who haven't worn flip flops in a decade, and decide to trot out their beauties just in case Prince Charming wants to slide a glass slipper on their calloused, rotten toe-nailed, bunion-having piggies.
S has recently contracted ringworm.
Did it come from the community swimming pool? The cat? School? Digging in fungus-infested dirt and mud? Who knows? Who cares? It's not like I can undo grossness.
We went to the doctor for it yesterday, and apparently, ringworm of the scalp is the hardest to get rid of. Naturally. He has to take an antifungal drug for a whole month. And use stinky anti-dandruff shampoo. And this formerly-for-horses menthol liniment I researched. He smells like a throat lozenge. For horses.
The kicker, of course, is that upon further examination, the not-quite botfly grossness has been transmitted to me. MOI. Yes. I have contracted boy cooties. Everything we knew in grade school was correct. Boys do have them. They are contagious. And they require yucky medicine to get rid of. Children are like the bottomless pit of disgusting.
They don't even need gory Halloween costumes. They can just be themselves--green boogers, scaly patches of festering skin, scabs, stink, marginally brushed yellow teeth, pirate breath, bruises, black fingernails, pink eye, lice, sweat--these monsters have it all. Stephen King has yet to invent anything more frightening and repulsive than a little boy.
When the boys get out of the tub, there is a ring around it. Not of hard water stain, mind you, of DIRT. There is grit left in the bottom of the tub when all the water is drained. I keep a spray bottle of bleach just to spritz into the tub every night after bath time. What the hell? Where is all that dirt stored? And they don't even notice!! It's like they're feral little animals and have no idea of the cloud of stench hovering above them all the time.
Ringworm, people. My kid has ringworm. And now, so do I. Was my kid wandering across the village barefoot to bring water to our hut? No. Was he wading through flood waters to rescue his livestock so he wouldn't starve? No. Was he laboring in rice paddies to feed his family? No. Was he chained to a child labor gang working in dank mines? NO!
Me!?! Of psychotic daily laundry rates. Of boiling sheets weekly. Of bleaching toilets daily. Of intense bodily scrubbing and exfoliation. Of disinfecting, deodorizing, and decontaminating. Of bleach consumption that only rivals a dry cleaners'. Me. Skin fungus. Just this side of botfly.
I'm seriously considering cutting off my infected finger.
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