July 2007


Why is that the same people who have not managed to throw away a single thing since 1973 have managed to lose not one, not two, but every single last one of my yearbooks?  Really!  And I went to a ginormous high school, so these are big yearbooks we’re talking about here.  The junior high ones aren’t exactly wee tiny either.  I think what happened is when my mom took over my closet and my sister’s closet, the yearbooks were tossed to make room for her crap.  Which she never wears.  I know this because she tried to pawn off clothes from the eighties on me that still had the tags attached.

And another question: if your cousin died, would you not make every effort to get to her funeral?  My parents aren’t going.  My sister and I are though.  Both of us have had to rearrange work schedules, make arrangements for pet care, reorganize personal schedules, and in my case, put my coach out of about ninety minutes of work (and considering he makes a dollar a minute off me, I’d call that significant, especially for a 23 year old.  I hate when I have to make him lose minutes).  My dad’s excuse is that he has a guy flying down for an interview.  So call him and reschedule the interview!  People understand.  Or have an underling interview the dude on Monday, give his impressions, and then my dad could phone interview him or bring him back down again later.  Whatever, you can make it work.  My mom’s excuse is two-fold.  One, she has a doctor’s appointment at 7am.  Well, Robbie’s memorial service isn’t until six pm because she wanted to make sure her friends could be there without losing work money.  Um yeah, I think there’s time to get there.  Two, her parents are coming into town because her sister is in town for some work thing.  They were all supposed to have dinner together.  Again, I think people will understand.  But no, they’re not going.  Then Kim and I (mostly Kim as I sat there like Silent Bob after giving one raised eyebrow at the beginning) got yelled at for being judgemental.  Kim said, “I’m not being judgemental.  I just think you should go to be there for Sarah and Kenny and to pay respects to the family.”

Mom said, “I talked to June and Bob and Lauree, and they all understood why we can’t be there.  You’re judging us in the worst way whether you think you are or not.”

Kim said, “I’m not judging.  I’m giving my opinion.”

And there is the rub.  My mother takes everything personally and as a judgement.  If I say blue isn’t my favorite color, then I must hate her decorating and therefore, I hate her.  Nope, I just don’t like blue furniture.  It’s country, and I don’t like country (though her blue is less country and more French).  Anyway, my mom can’t separate an opinion from a judgement.  It really makes me wonder what she thinks of other people when she doesn’t like their color choices or the same kinds of food.  She gets really offended when people don’t like the same kinds of food as she does.  It’s kind of weird. 

Anyway, I think it’s ridiculous that they’re not going.  I tried on Saturday to convince my mom that her parents would be understanding, but she kept interrupting me and talking over me, etc.  I know they know they’re in the wrong here, otherwise they wouldn’t be so defensive about it.  Maybe I am judging.  Okay, I’m definitely judging.  I just can’t believe they’re not making any effort to get down there.  It makes me sick.  All I know is that if people can’t come up with better reasons for not coming to my funeral, I’ll haunt their asses!

While I was writing the mouse post, my mom called and told me my cousin Robbie passed away last night.  She’s the one who had the untreatable brain cancer I wrote about a few posts ago. 

So I was cleaning out the garage yesterday, and I found a dead mouse.  Blech.  It was the one time in months that I thought it might be nice to have a man around.  Luckily I have come to my senses and decided that I will just call the bug guy on Monday.  In the meantime, the poor dead mouse is still hanging out in the garage.  It’s stuck to one of those sticky trays which are actually meant to catch creepy-crawly bugs.  I’m not sure how long it’s been there because I don’t usually look at the trays.  See, what happened was I was cleaning up the sports equipment area which is by the garage door.  The little trays are on either side of the door (they’re about the size of a license plate).  I noticed the tray was crooked (and we can all thank Monica on Friends for this one: “If it’s not a right angle, then it’s a wrong angle”) so I kicked the corner of the tray to straighten it out.  My tennis shoe got stuck in the sticky goo.  That was gross enough as the tray is covered in crickets.  Then I saw this gray fuzzy stuff which really confused me because I thought it was a hairball, and my dog is blonde so how could it be gray hair?  So I looked a little closer at the tray which, mind you, was still stuck to my shoe.  And the realization that I was looking at a small dead mouse dawned on me.  I must admit I shrieked.  My neighbors suck because apparently they didn’t care enough to come rescue me.  Or maybe they didn’t hear me because I’m really a very quiet person even while shrieking.  Anyway, I had to get the tray off without using my hands, so I used my other foot to hold the tray steady while I unstuck my shoe.  That was tricky since I obviously didn’t want to touch the mouse with any part of me or anything that was touching me or that I would have to touch later.  Plus I didn’t want to get my other shoe stuck in the goo either.  Once I was free, I decided the garage was plenty clean, and that was that!

So you know that digital camera I just bought?  Utterly useless.  I just went on vacation and didn’t take one single picture while there.  I guess I’m out of the habit!

Magnus likes to eat rocks.  WTF???  I understood when he chewed on weeds.  That made sense for a teething puppy.  But rocks?  And here’s the really weird thing – he rings the bell to go outside specifically to get a rock.  Yep, he rings, I let him out, he grabs a rock, and then he comes back inside.  I haven’t done anything about it because I don’t see the point.  He’s not swallowing them or anything like that.  He just gnaws on them and then leaves them all over the house (which is why I’m a little confused when he goes and gets another one.  Is he looking for a particular flavor?  Do they lose their rocky goodness after being sucked on for so long?).  I should mention that he has plenty of chew toys which he seems to enjoy, but every once in a while you can’t seem to beat a good rock.

Okay, in other news, I’m a little burned out skating-wise.  Summer sucks.  It’s hard to find a good session for adults too.  All of us are frustrated and skipping sessions because we’re so miserable on them.  Stupid kids!  We’re working on it though.  We’re trying to get our core group of adults to commit to coming for an adult freestyle session (which they’ll let me on since I’m the only adult dancer and I don’t have a partner) three times a week at lunchtime.  Once we get a certain number to commit, they’ll put us on the schedule.  They’re also talking about putting together an adult stroking class in the fall.  I really hope that works out!

My parents are all moved over to the new house.  So I don’t have to pack for them anymore.  I do, however, have to help unpack.  That’s fine.  I’ve always thought unpacking was easier than packing.  The really hard part of the job is listening to them bicker.  Holy shit, it is so annoying!  And it’s always over something really dumb like the Thanksgiving when my dad wanted to go to the store and get some lunchmeat (this was a few days before Thanksgiving).  My mom wouldn’t let him because she said there wasn’t any room in the fridge.  He said lunchmeat didn’t take up that much room.  She still said no.  This went on for eight freaking hours.  Back and forth and back and forth.  I very nearly went insane listening to it.  They did the same thing in the car this weekend when we went to visit my cousin who is dying.  She has untreatable brain cancer.  So for a total of ten hours, I had to listen to them bicker.  What I learned is that they both have to be right, and they both have to have the last word.  And that’s how you get two people who can argue over lunchmeat for eight hours! 

I have to go to dance class in a minute, but I bought a digital camera this weekend and wanted to put that in here.  This is pretty monumental for me because it’s my first technological purchase without a man guiding me to buy what he really wanted.  My mom helped me though.  Still not totally independent yet, am I?

There’s a cute guy at work.  That’s all I’m saying.

No, it’s not.  He noticed my hair yesterday.  Now that’s all I’m saying!

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