Heheheh

I was walking down the hallway at work a few minutes ago, and two people were standing in my way. They each had their back to the hallway and were facing into a cubicle and an office talking, so rather than interrupt two different conversations, I turned sideways to slip between them.

OOps.

Didn't think about the fact that I'm bigger front to back, than side to side.

I am Fertile Again!

After a short 22 months, Aunt Flo is back for a visit and I am officially (biologically) ready for #2! If only my finances recovered to quickly. I'm bummed out due to the inconvenience, but stoked that my magical baby-making powers are back.

And it is on this old-newcomer that I am blaming the following statement:
I have been having some seriously inappropriate dreams about someone other than my husband.

And I'm slightly disturbed, because this is someone that I haven't thought of in that way before. Okay, maybe a little bit, but not quite so...graphically.

Gawd, and what to do? I see this person every day, more than a few times a day at work, and I know I'm blushing when we speak, so thank Goodness my office is so dark, but I feel like the bright red ACT NORMAL sign on my forehead is blinking and it's throwing me off so that I know I get a tiny smile in the corners of my mouth when we speak, but I can't help it.

How naughty, eh? But don't worry folks, this person is in a committed relationship, as am I, and there is not a hot damn thing that I going to do about this in real life. It's just tripping me out, you know, and since shame is not a word I'm familiar with lately, I wanted to share.

Thanks, I feel better. And I know it's only 9pm, but I'm suddenly very tired.

:)

Screw Normalcy

The happiest time of my conscious life was when I was dedicated to being different. People were intrigued with the odd styles of clothes I would pick out, my quirky hobbies and habits, and the fact that for a while, I just didn't give a damn. I mean, I did. My personality was a cultivation of things that I enjoyed, things that made me an individual, and at the same time I was very conscious of the fact that those differences were what drew people to me, and so I did care a lot about what people thought, and the more different I was from the crowd, the happier I was with myself.

When I was 13, I remember moving to San Marin and realizing that different was no longer good. Everyone was white. Everyone had stylish clothes, and a JanSport backpack. Except me. And for the next 11 years, I tried to be "that." I tried to be like everyone else, because I didn't want to be alone. I thought that maybe if I changed the outside of me, the inside would align itself and I would finally be a normal person.

But as The Nanny so eloquently told me, as I was explaining to her that I'd rather drink beer than eat ice cream because it had less calories, "You're weird."

And it suddenly hit me, damn straight I am! And no matter what hell I do, I'm always going to be weird. I'm tired of fighting it.

I strove for so long to be understood. And I'm tired of always trying to explain myself, always wasting my energy to get people to understand what I'm talking about, or why I did something that they wouldn't have done. I give up. For some reason, that just isn't important to me anymore.

Whenever I start a new friendship, it's always this feeling of, "Will this be the person who really gets me?" And I'm just starting to think it's not possible. It's an unreal expectation that someone out there will totally get me. And even if that person was out there in the world, would I really want to find them? Would I want to be aroudn someone who always understood how I felt? Maybe, but it seems like it could get a little annoying.

Anyway, for years and years, I tried to define myself without being true to who I really am. I tried to find "acceptable" hobbies and do all that normal shit that people do, and I haven't really been happy because it just wasn't me. And not that this revelation is going to make me chipper overnight, but I feel a bit freer just thinking that right now, I'm a freaking odd-ball, and I'm okay with that.

Almost Forgot

Sometimes when I'm eating, my tongue will brush against my teeth and my heart will skip a beat when I realze I didn't feel my tongue ring.

Oh shit, I swallowed it!

But then I remember I took it out a while ago. Kind of like when you lose a body part but you can still feel it there ... right?

*smile*

Before I was pregnant, and money-conscious, and watching what I ate to ensure I had a strong, healthy child (which has been mostly true, save the past week or so) I used to eat at my favorite "fast-food" Thai place at Northgate fairly frequently.

Which for me means only once a month or so.

There is a young guy who has worked there for a few years who I often saw, and would say hi to, and when I was pregnant he would always ask how I was doing and tell me that I looked so happy. And of course, while I was pregnant it was nice to hear, considering my ankles were twice as big as they were supposed to be (but I'm sure he couldn't see that) and even when I was miserable from having to pee every half-hour (of course, he didn't know that either) it always made me smile how sweet he was to an angry, sweaty, hungry County drone.

Before today, I hadn't been back there in probably 8 or 9 months, since last summer most likely. But T-Boog was sick today, and I nursed her at home then put her right to sleep after giving her some Tylenol, fed the dogs and realized I had nothing to eat. I figured I may as well buy myself something since it was one of the few times I could go where I wanted without worrying about anyone else.

So I headed over to Jhan Thong (?) ordered my customary noodle salad, pad thai and ginger chicken and went to the register to pay. Smiled at the guy, because I recognized him, and almost dropped my fork when he asked how I was doing, how my daughter was, and how old she is now since he hadn't seen me in so long.

I remember working in customer service and seeing so many people a day that their faces became a blur to me. I remember people stopping me on the street (which actually still happens at the new gig) asking how I was and I couldn't for the life of me remember who they were.

So to be remembered... it sounds lame, but it made my day. After feeling so transparent yesterday, it was just nice to have someone ask about me, and my kid. It was just nice to know that even when I'm not there, someone remembers that I still exist. And there's no flirty-nothing going on, it's not like that, though the guy is cute (don't tell P I said that!) but I guess because I've been going there so long, from back in the day when I worked at Mervyns, it's just one of those people that you say hi to, not even on an aquaintance level, because I have no idea what his name is.

*sigh*

How to explain? Maybe I can't, or maybe I shouldn't. Maybe I should just appreciate it for the simple, friendly gesture it was, appreciate the smile it left on my face and go on with my day. I guess I'm just realizing again how you get what you need when you need it. It's so easy to forget sometimes.

FINISHED (!!!!)

I just finished pumping for the last time at work (at least for this kid).

As I was packing up the power cord, which has been permanantly plugged into my office wall for the past 5 months, a hige smile broke out on my face, and I started doing this weird, convulsive, funky-chicken dance in front of my paper-covered window.

Then I thought about my across-the-hall neighbor (also my male lead worker) looking up from him computer and seeing my shadow like a freak-on-a-leash (under the Big Top) show at work, and started laughing out loud.

And when I opened the door, pulled the Caution sign off and walked down the hall to the kitchen, I notice a few people looking at me oddly, but you know what? I don't care.

I'm damn proud of myself for making it this long. I did what was best for my baby (in my mind) and if I want to celebrate that, to hell with all the men around here who will never have a plastic horn attached to their nipples for hours at a time to feed thier children.

Go me, it's Taryn's birthday, go me, I'm not pumping!

I'm going to try to con Ally into helping me get a big-ass plant upstairs after lunch for my office. Now that I'm taking the paper down, maybe they won't die from lack of sunlight anymore.

Shorts

I have these thoughts tumbling around my head, and really, none yet warrant an entire post to itself, yet, because maybe later I'll have the insight to delve a bit deeper, but for now I just need to get them out so I hav emore room in my brain to plan T-Boog's birthday.

1. Peachy Crap?
I think it's just me, but why on earth would someone want their restroom to smell like peach and shit? The aerosol here at work has been flowery or peach for ages, and it's gross. I quite enjoy peach lotion, or the smell of peach pie, but peach as a cover-up to a foul odor? Not the best idea in my book.

2. Ghetto-fied Hamilton?
Sometimes even cool folks have ass-inine ideas. Like my uber-awesome neighbors who commented yesterday that they wouldn't send their kids to Hamilton school because of all the people from Vallejo who moved into the rentals nearby. First off, whatever. As if having non-Marinites in close proximity to your children is such a bad thing? Because really, having intergrated schools is not the end of the freaking world. And yes, I get that you want your kids to have a good education, but isn't education about more than just book learning? Isn't it important for them to see that not everyone is middle-class white people, and to learn to interact with people from different ethnic and social classes? And besides, as a teacher, you of all people should be aware of the detrimental affect of moving white kids out of certain schools so that the funding follows them instead of staying where it started and helping people of color get a good education too. But damn, I forgot. You teach at Marin Catholic, not Novato High.

3. Speaking of Neighbors
The Great Dane People who live near us have evidently pissed off most of the neighborhood. I was completely unaware that their dogs are so disruptive to nearby residents because my ass is usually knocked-out and sound asleep until 5:30am when T-Boog decides she wants to nurse while she listens to the Early Birds sing to the worms. But I was advised yesterday that the neighbor between us gets super-pissed that they let the dogs out at 4am, unattended, to do their duties (which also means the shit is not getting picked up) and then let them howl and bark outside the front door when they are ready to come back in. Eck. I already got issues with the guy, his wife is cool, but he seems to be completely oblivious to the fact that parking a monster boat on the street, with two monster trucks nearby is a pain-in-the-ass to the rest of us blindly backing out of our own carports in the morning, let alone the fact that they park an extra car in the handicap space (not that we have any disabled folks living nearby, but if we did...) and whatever. I'm washing my hands of them.

4. Got Grass?
P has decided to grow us a lawn in back of our place. The way the condo is set up, we have a little 8 by 10 foot sheltered spot right outside out living room window that was, until yesterday, covered in drought-resistant bushes. So while I was washing/blowdrying/curling my hair last night I smelled the BBQ going and thought P was just making dinner. Turns out her was slash-and-burning those poor plants to clear a spot that he plans to roto-till and grow some grass. I'm trying to figure out if it's for the dogs or Taryn. Maybe both? And I'm just hoping the HOA doesn't get all vindictive on us and make him re-place the stuff he tore up if we're found out. But if they do find out, I'm blaming the Great Dane people or the gardners. They are the only ones who go back there besides us.

5. On Family
Yay! Two of my aunts are coming to visit next week. I'm stoked, especially so they can see Taryn and hopefully the weather will be nice for them. Too bad I probably won't get an RDO while they are here, but maybe I'll happen to be sick so I can get a long weekend. Heh. Heh.

6. Little Overborad, Doncha Think?
I have the attendee list for T-Boog's birthday, and oops. From the people I invited we have 5-7 infants, 8-10 children, and 25-31 adults who will be there. Which means we'll have to feed and entertain enywhere from 40-60 people that day. Damn, I'm so glad I didn't decide to do it at my place. But double damn, I have to FEED all there people! 'Cept the babies of course, not my job.

Oxymoron

Am I the only one that thinks the phrase "Constructive Criticism" is kind of stupid? I mean, if it's really constructive, why is is called criticism? Why not feedback, or analysis or something? It may very well be me, myself and I who have a negative connotation of the word criticism, but it just seems so ... critical.

So forgive me for not taking it well. I don't think I get all bristly-like, and jump down your throat instead of taking the finer points of the statement as advice and the rest with a grain of salt (another stupid-saying, if you ask me. But who's asking, right?). I do, however, feel the need to explain myself, and I think that comes off as being ungrateful and rude, even if my intention is a bit more mellow.

A lot of my problems in life come from that fact that I want to be understood, and simply am not. I can't get over the fact that people don't get me. I like to think it's because I have such a dynamic personality, it's hard to grasp that so many conflicting ideas and emotions and actions can be contained in one person. But let's be honest, maybe the truth is I've swayed a little further than I'd like to believe in the direction of Crazy than most folks, which makes my ramblings harder to follow. But crazy is a mindstate, no? I prefer eccentric, or unconventional personally, and therein lies another problem. I have a very hard time labelling myself independently. I tend to see myself through dark-grey glasses, the same ones I imagine other people see me through.

Back to crazy and criticisms in a minute, I just have to say I was royally pissed off when my mom told me a friend of hers was disappointed in me. For acting my age. What? Just because most of my life I have been more mature than other folks of a comparable age (like said friend's own daughter) does not mean that when I act my age I am a disappointment. It means I was a fucking kid.

Back to the topic of ... yes, criticism. I have the tendency to want to explain my actions, because I hate for people to be disappointed in me (thanks Catherine!) almost as much as I hate to be disappointed. But then I tend to get flustered when I feel the urge to explain myself which is, I can imagine, not a pretty sight. So between the mumbling and stutters (as least I have the sweaty pits under control...go me!), and I tend to speak how I write which is not exactly linear, though very logical if I can get it out, I think I not only freak people out, I also seem very defensive.

And I'm not, really. I just want you to know I'm not a dumbass. Though I may look like one trying to explain that I'm not, really, I promise, am quite intelligent. At least on paper. And I don't want people to think I'm making excuses for things that I could have handled but didn't, like if a client drops in with a contagious disease that is eating away his vision and his livelihood, since he's a cab-driver and he's supposed to take 5 pills per day and ran out and needs to get a re-fill like, now? And then when I let you know he dropped in and is downstairs waiting for his card because his GA worker told him that I had already granted benfits when I hadn't really, and then you tell me to leave the case on you desk next time, instead of your "grant pile" so you can get to it right away? See in that situation, I want to explain it all, and I end up looking like the freak. Which I'm okay with mostly, but this time? Not so much. I wasn't being irresponsible, it isn't my fault you have to do this RIGHT NOW, and it's vitally important to me that you know that. For no particular reason, really, just that I want to pretend that in at least one realm of my life, I have my shit together. And I was hoping it was this one, and on the inside I do, but maybe it doesn't look like that on the outside, ya dig?

And another thing. Crticism, no matter what kind it is, constructive or not, the shit hurts. And I've got a tough facade, but really, I'm a very tender person. So between the Hurt and the Fluster, the Explaining probably comes out a little hysterical. Which is not good for business.

That's all. Thanks for reading.

Um, Okay. That's Fair, Right?

I pay 50% of our bills. And yet I'm expected to do 90% of the housework, 80% of the cooking, and take care of Taryn 95% of the time I'm not in work.

That's really adds up to an equal division of labor.

Hoo-rah for all of you who have partners who do their fair share, and excuse me for bitching that I don't have one. It's easy to tell me to lay off or give P a break but I'm sure if you were in my shoes, you wouldn't be so laid-back about his laziness. And I'm all for people needing a break, but since when is watching 2 full-length movies in a day and cleaning the bathroom reason to go to bed early?

I read an email once about how when a mother says she's going to bed, first she folds the rest of the laundry, does the dishes, makes everyone's lunches for the next day, etc ... and when a man says he's going to bed, he peels his fat ass off the couch and goes to sleep.

I think if maybe he was always like this, it'd be easier to accept the fact that he's a lazy bum, but he used to help me more. I think he'g gotten it into his head that the Nanny is his personal butler-ess, and now he can be a fat-ter lazy-er slob and what? Because we pay someone to watch the baby, she's supposed to clean up after him too? Unfortunately for her, she does, and I'm jusy furious right now that he is acting like such an asshole. Complaining like I'm some evil nagging bitch for asking him to wash his dish in the sink while I take the dogs out to poop ... at 11pm.

I don't mind doing the womanly chores, watching the baby, cooking, dishes, laundry, but doesn't that mean he should then be doing the manly chores, like cleaning up after the dogs, and taking out the trash without being asked?

Really. I'm just so damn frustrated right now. Tomorrow I'll be fine. Tomorrow I'll scheme on how to make him realize how much I do around the house, but it won't stick. Because the truth of the matter is, he'd rather be nagged than to be responsible.

If it bothered him so much, he'd take care of his shit without me making a comment. If I don't want people telling me anything, I do what I need to before if can be brought up. I think for him it's comforting, to think that he doesn't have to take full responsibility for himself. That he can be a child, even though he's grown. And I have to admit too that I'd rather bitch at him than enable him. I'm not going to do everything for him so that he can be lazy. It's not my job to infantize him, and I may break his balls to get him to do something, even when he doesn't feel like he should, but at least it gets done.

We're comfortable in our roles, if not completey satisfied, and I blame it all on him being lazy, he blames it all on me being a nag, and fuck it all if we actually got some sort of resolution out of it.

What a dork I am. I'm sitting here picturing us in our old age, with the kids grown and married, all the grandkids running around out front. He's sitting on the porch drinking a beer watching them play and I'm inside yelling at him to take the garbage out because its full. He's out on the porch rolling his eyes at our son and sons-in-law, while I'm in the kitchen with our daughters and daughter-in-law bitching that hes always been lazy, and some things never change.

*sigh*

Maybe I'll get him some hearing aides for his birthday this year.

Maple Syrup for the Soul

I'm a sap. A friend of mine just sent me a note, and I didn't know how else to save it, except to put it on this blog and hope the writer doesn't get embarassed.

Can I just say? I really value your friendship and appreciate that fact that we can speak so candidly with one another, about everything. It is very refreshing to have a healthy relationship with another funny, intelligent, beautiful woman. Maybe I didn’t need to say all this but I figured you couldn’t read my mind. I am realizing that I have been feeling “Happier” since we really started getting to know each other. I promise I will never do you wrong. I know this sounds cliché but you are like a sister to me. Alright, I’m done being mushy…

Isn't it a trip how such a simple yet honest note can make everything better? Not that I was sitting here feeling sorry for myself, but certain events in the past year or so have utterly destroyed my confidence in choosing and maintaining friendships, and this quick note just let me know that I am capable of being in a healthy friendship with another female.

Gawd, and the compliments? Funny! Intelligent! Beautiful! Can't go wrong with that powerhouse. So now I'll tuck this little gem into my pocket and pull it our whenever I need a little boost. When the coffee runs out and I'm sleep deprived and the baby is crying, I can still feel appreciated.

(SOB-heheheheh. Let me know if you want me to take this down, I'd totally understand)

Another Attack of the Flapping Jaw

If someone ever wrote a book about my life, it might be titled Aletta - Normally Pretty Quiet, But When She Gets to Talking, You Won't Believe the Shit That Comes Out of Her Mouth. Seriously. I think it sounds about right.

Judge for yourself:

I was recounting an exchange between my mom and I, regarding a certain Cup of Blonde (why couldn't she be a Spoon of Blonde, then I could just call her SOB all day), to said Blondie about her girlfriend.

Already, the readers are groaning in their seats.... I know, I know. I should have seen the set-up, but the huge red flag... I thought it was just a piece of lint stuck to my eyelash.

I even prefaced this little story by telling CoB "Look, laugh at this even if you don't think it's funny so I won't know if you're mad at me."

WTF? Who says that?

Oh yeah....me.

So anyway. Here's the story. CoB has this great girlfriend who is Italian, and cooks Italian food, and she's funny as all get-out, and so yeah, I'm not the jealous type, but sometimes you wonder, you know, if maybe you're batting for the wrong team? So I was kind of moping one day when P was being a man and telling my mom about how CoB's Vic cooks! And helps her clean! And my mom makes this comment like, "Well, what are you going to do about it, go after her?"

And I thought it was hilarious, not only because CoB's Vic is so totally in love with her, but because I had been joking with another friend, we'll call her Teapot to protect the innocent, that I really wanted to get a girlfriend on the side for all the other stuff, you know? And we kind of decided that in my situation, it would probably be better to have a live-in girlfriend, and a man on the side, since men are only good for that one thing that a woman just can't do for you.

Of course, I didn't explain all this to CoB, because once the words left my mouth (see "...go after her." above. Doh!) I realized how bad it really could sound and made some lame follow-up about how I know Vic loves her and...

On a scale of one to ten, that was probably douche-y.

(God, most of you don't know just how clever I am)

And so yeah. I didn't really trip off the whole conversation, my brain didn't kick in just how lame it was to tell CoB that until she came to say 'bye' at the end of the day, and I was like, "Oh shit. She's going to tell Vic I said that. And the next time I see Vic....ah. How embarassing."

And the worst part of it, I think CoB was trying to make me feel better for being married to a stinky, sloppy man, because she told me that if Vic and her weren't together, Vic would go for a mixed girl, or a Latina. I think maybe she was trying to cover all the bases there, because most people aren't sure which I am.

So here's my disclaimer to the world: I'll be married for 5 years next month. Yes, P-Dely pisses me off, and he does smell sometimes, and while he does cook, it's often a different version of the same thing, but love is one of those fucking things that you just can't help. I can't imagine my life without him. I love him so much more than I ever planned to, and I'm happy and satisfied that every year we are together, our life together gets fuller, richer, more chock-full of amazing memories and more enjoyable.

But if I was Mormon, I'd totally have a chick on the side.