Hell Hath No Fury....

How much more grievous are the consequences of anger than the causes of it.
--Marcus Aurelius

Fortunately I have learned this lesson and rather than coming home today and blasting everyone in my path I calmly explained that I was furious and didn't want to talk about it because I did not want to say something I would regret. My Saturday job conjured up such a violently ill/angry mood today that I thought of at least one dozen reasons to blast whoever happened to jump on the last nerve. The "cleaner" failed to do her job. The front desk at the realty office released the house prematurely causing the tenants to show up while I was still cleaning. The houses I am inspecting cost thousands of dollars to rent for a week. Therefore, when they encounter me doing menial tasks that they would never have to do since they are abounding in money; they feel the need to be quite condescending. I cannot say that they are cruel, just condescending. To them I am some non-educated, impoverished individual that is beneath their social and financial stature. As much as they are spending, I understand that they want everything to be perfect and I'm just the face that's in front of them so I get to deal with them. Perhaps this is just a lesson for me.....showing me how I should be treating others. I guess it's better for me to look at it that way rather than sinking into the depths of "why not me?". I have plenty to be thankful for and appreciative of. Like a friend told me yesterday, "Everyone is twisted." Somewhere in those people's lives is something twisted....it may be below the surface, but it's there. I try not to covet what material things others have, but sometimes I travel down that dark path and wonder why I have to do without certain things. Then after I get to the point where I can check reality clearly, I see all the blessings I have. If I assume the perspective of someone else....a homeless person for instance....my house is fantastic. I am healthy. I am loved. I have what I need. More often than not I am happy and satisfied with my life...it's just the occasional day like this that makes me question and criticize every aspect of it. I figure it's just part of life. So, basically, I am glad that I did not come home and blast people that didn't deserve my wrath when it was me having issues with myself, reacting to the day I had. I did what any gal would do....came home, cried about my internal confusion, listened to appropriate music (when I am angry, there is just something about playing Limp Bizkit's Break Stuff song over and over that finally helps me work through the anger....I don't know if it's the "hard" music or the profuse profanity or the sheer rage that is exemplified in the song that does the trick, but wow does it help - I can't even bring myself to post the lyrics....I think my brother-in-law G would be shocked - I was there when he read the entry about the Sonic shake screwing up my weigh-in and the language I used was mild compared to what's in this song), blogged my feelings, and now I can face the world again. I didn't quit my job (which would only end up hurting More-Than-a-Step-Mom & Dad, in turn hurting me because I do not want to hurt them) and I didn't blast some undeserving individual. When I am that angry I can freak out on someone for something that doesn't warrant a freak out. Now that I am calm, I am going to go chill out. I am sure personal cleanliness will lift my spirits even more. Thus ends another rambling, but introspective, view into my world. Hope you enjoyed the ride.

Ma'am?!

To me old age is always ten years older than I am. ~ Andre Bernard Buruch

I would be completely fooling myself if I even contemplated that I could be mistaken for one of the young chicks that seem to be so abundant lately. I never had the body that most of these young girls have these days and could only hope to achieve such a body through the miracles of plastic surgery. The frequency with which I am referred to as "ma'am" lately does seem to indicate to me, though, that I must be looking much older than I had estimated. When my students call me ma'am, it doesn't bother me because to second graders I am ancient. On the contrary, a vile chill runs up my spine when I am addressed as ma'am by those who are obviously "twenty-somethings". Case in point: Today I was walking home from exercise class feeling pretty good because I had worked out and was still full of endorphins. As I approached the bike shop between my home and class, a young whippersnapper (a twenty-something) came barreling towards the road (astride a scooter) from the side of the building, startling me. My shock was obviously evident because the whippersnapper insulted me with his apology, "Sorry to startle you, MA'AM." Nothing like that apology to burst the tiny bubble of self-confidence I momentarily possessed. Ma'am. I guess I should have found my cane and beaten him senseless. I will next time....unless the Alzheimers kicks in and I forget. I'm going to take a Geritol, slather on some Porcelana, and feebly stumble to bed.

Babble Babble Babble

Only work which is the product of inner compulsion can have spiritual meaning. ~ Walter Gropius

Deep thought for a post about nothing. I really have nothing to say today, but I feel the need to write. Therefore, I have masked my unexplained urge with a quote that makes this compulsion seem like more than merely a whim. I'm not sure what's with me today. I woke up early and felt like I should go for a walk or something. Instead I folded the wash that was in the drier from last night and put it either away or in spots for others to put away (I am trying to train the children). Then I folded Hubby's charter boat shirts. They have occupied space in the dining room for weeks. He bought storage boxes with the intention of getting them out of the dining room and even gave me a date for their departure. They are now folded by size and will be boxed shortly. Where will the boxes live? I'm not sure of their new address, but I know they are being evicted from the dining room.

It's shaping up to be another beach day. Another day where I throw caution to the wind and ignore the daily warnings of melanoma that are perpetually spewed forth on tv and purposefully venture out into the cancer-inflicting rays between the bewitching hours of 10 and 4. I slather on the sun lotion and bask in the glory of the sun watching the children romp and play in the water. Staying in the house between 10 and 4 while living at the beach is just impossible. Doesn't that promote a sedentary lifestyle anyway? How can I provide opportunities for physical activity while caged up in the house all day? Son tries to get his physical exercise in my living room using the furniture as a trampoline, but since I am not independently wealthy and able to buy new furniture as often as he could tear through it, I frown upon this form of activity. We typically do not actually get our feet into the sand until after 1 and stay until at least 4 (yesterday it was after 5). We are cautious, mind you, but I secretly enjoy it when my tan lines become more distinct and my freckles darken. No, I do not get a ravishing tan. My fair skin will not ever rival the Ban de Soleil or Hawaiian Tropic girls, but seeing the contrast between the skin that sees the light of day and the skin that remains covered by my bathing suit is, for me, a traditional sign of summer. Dermatologists around the world will shudder when I publish this one.

I think I have worked through my pressing need to write. All in all the post didn't turn out so bad. I ended up giving a commentary on sun bathing. Sweet.

Truck Drivin' Woman

You can only play so much golf and lay around the beach. ~ Steve Spurrier

I won't comment on the "golf" part of the quote since I have never had the desire to do so...maybe I'm really missing out on something. It just doesn't interest me. The beach, in contrast, that's an entirely different thing. Although I am a Yankee by birth, I have always had a home near the beach (yes, even UNC had Conner Beach - tee hee). I cannot imagine spending my life in any other place. The salty sea air is divine and refreshing. There is nothing more spectacular to me than the beauty of the beach and the water. It is ever-changing, but always gorgeous. It is mesmerizing. I completely disagree with Steve Spurrier....I could lie around on the beach daily watching the tide come in and out. Watching the children splash and swim and surf. Watching the birds dart back and forth as the waves lap and regress. Yes, it has been over a week since I have written, but I have indulged myself and spent many days at the beach this week. Not full days, mind you....my fair skin and drive to do tasks that I despise (did you read my last entry?) prevent me from spending all day every day at the beach, but I have spent at least two (usually more) hours per day at the beach (or in my brother's boat as was the case on Sun.) this week. OK....I DID skip Sat. & Wed. I also overcame a fear this week that now enables me to visit the beach in a much easier manner....I learned how to drive Hubby's four-wheel drive truck on the beach!!! Yay me! My sister-in-law, A, rode with me the first time detailing the tricks of the skill. The tires need to have about 22 pounds of air. Keep the wheels straight at first and then turn. Etc. I have since driven to the beach twice with just the kids....meeting others, though. Today I was so bold as to let everyone else leave and stay with just the kids....I had even left my cell phone at home. True "roughing it". What have I been depriving myself of for all these years?! I toss my junk in the truck and only have to unload my chair and Son's boogie board. The food and drinks stay in the truck! I don't have to lug my paraphernalia across the hot sand. I have to work tomorrow, but I plan to kick that baby into four-wheel drive as much as possible next week. There isn't much summer left and I want to spend as much of it as I can on that beach!!! Vroom!

Frenzy of Hellishness

Few tasks are more like the torture of Sisyphus than housework, with its endless repetition: the clean becomes soiled, the soiled is made clean, over and over, day after day. ~ Simone de Beauvoir

Cleaning, to me, is torture due to the mere fact that in my home the clean becomes soiled almost immediately after being cleaned. For instance, I just finished wiping down the bathroom counter. I will repeat this at least once more today (after Son finishes brushing his teeth) if not twice since Hubby will more than likely sense the cleanliness with his super male senses and thus feel the need to shave, spreading whiskers onto my pristine counter. Oh, he takes measures to prevent complete and utter "spreadage", but neglects to wipe up those that escape the towel or shirt used to cover the sink. Not that I don't clean the counter daily (what was the world prior to Clorox Wipes?! - Amen?), but every couple of days I do the COMPLETE wipedown that involves the removal of the items and the use of Clorox Cleanup...it is then that the shaving begins. I wonder if there is something in the Clorox that triggers his urge to shave. Hmm. I honestly feel that I could clean all day every day and still there would be clutter and filth lurking. No, I do not have OCD. Come to my home and that is clearly evident. I cannot remember the last time that every part of my home was truly clean. I know that people live in complete cleanliness because I have seen it. How they accomplish it (while maintaining a life) is beyond my realm of reality. It is now almost 4:30 and I have spent the majority of this day cleaning. I could not believe the amount of junk that came out of my Expedition. She is now clean, sandless, and wiped down (on the interior). The bathroom is clean. I cleaned the non-cluttered part of my kitchen. My bakers rack really needs a dusting, but that will not be done this day. I did manage to steam clean the kitchen floor which has gotten so worn that it still does not look CLEAN. It IS as clean as it gets these days. Needless to say, I have spent all day in a cleaning frenzy knowing that within one day (if I am lucky) it will all be soiled again. Meanwhile, Daughter & Son's rooms both need a complete "clean sweep" (have you seen the show?)....useless junk tossed, outgrown clothes given away, etc. I have no clue when that will happen because by the time I get around to that, the kitchen and bathroom will be close to being closed down by the Board of Health (that means by tomorrow). Ho hum.

Camp

Happiness is the absence of fever. ~ Proust

Never has this been more true! Yesterday was one of those "milestone moments"....taking 10-yr-old Daughter to camp for the first time. She will be gone until I pick her up on Friday. It's only Monday and it already seems so different around here without her. The oddest part is not being able to know what she is "up to". When she is spending the night with a friend, I can ALWAYS get in touch. I am proud of myself because I have not cried about it...yet. I thought I would cry when I left, but Clementine and I (her daughter is also there) knew we were both "women on the edge" and joked enough on the walk to the car so that the tears wouldn't come. I DID come close when my sister-in-law dropped by this morning and I was telling her about our drama-filled adventure. Around here nothing can be done without some level of mishap or drama. We arrived CLOSE to our destination quite early enough and tried to find the camp PRIOR to eating, but never quite found it before hunger took over. We stopped at Wendy's to shove enough food into the girls to last for a week....they would have starved by Friday had they not had the Frosty. On a total side note, the snail-like pace of this Wendy's had me appreciating the Wendy's Nazi in Nags Head. The guy always stresses me out with his constant solicitation of orders, being so bold as to come out from behind the counter with a notepad in hand to get orders quickly! I feel like I never have the time to peruse the menu before being harassed into ordering. The Williamsburg operation, complete with its non-English-speaking counter attendants, made me yearn for the Nazi. After gorging on the fine assortment of artery clogging delicacies, we began our search for the camp AGAIN. Finally we stopped at a gas station. The Subway woman (yes, this was a Mobil/Subway) helped get us on the right path, but still missing some obscure turn. We then turned to the only other living soul we saw...a guy (who had the same body type as Mike Wozowski on Monsters, Inc. except that he wasn't a giant eyeball - more like round with skinny arms and legs) on a riding lawn mower. He was kind enough to turn off the machine and come directly to the car (did I mention the embarrassment we were inflicting on the 10 yr. olds in the back seat?). He got us exactly where we needed to be (the true test will be getting back there on Friday - I am not at all good with directions). The camp is beautiful...lots of lush greenery and very clean. We were all excited when we pulled in and saw the enormous pool and the other campers. We parked and headed toward the main building to get the girls registered. Even though I had anally checked and rechecked to make sure I had all the forms in my book bag, I could not find the pink and blue forms (the blue one having just been signed in the car by Daughter, stating that she would behave - fingers crossed on that one TEE HEE!). So, I literally sprinted back to the car to collect my papers. However, they were NOT still in the car. In a panic I sprinted BACK to the building only to discover that they were UNDER my purse in the book bag the entire time. We were then told that the girls would be in the Pocahontas unit and sent to the appropriate table. [They must have sensed the inappropriate jokes I would have made if they had been placed in Beaverwoods.] There we met Itsy Bitsy (yes, all these people have cutesy little nicknames...I could really get the giggles over it if I thought about it too long). She told the girls that the other counselors in their unit would meet them after we actually got to the unit. The one girl's "name" was Beans (she's from England) and the other girl's name is Thistle (she's from Scotland). I can't wait to hear Daughter and Savvy try to imitate the accents at the end of the week. With my sick mind, all I could think about was the movie Something About Mary when Ben Stiller gets his beans and frank stuck in the zipper and Cameron Diaz's step-father is asking how the beans got above the frank. After creating the luggage tags and name tags, it was on to the lice check and temperature taking. That's where our adventure turned from merry to panic. Daughter registered a temp. of 100.6. They do not accept campers with temps. of 101 or higher. Daughter did not feel ill....that was obvious by the snarfing of the Frosty, the donut, the nuggets, etc. as well as the goofy antics that had taken place on the 4 hour ride. No sore throat. No sniffles. No cough. She had complained of a queasy stomach when we left home, but she compared it to how her stomach feels when she goes to the dentist: NERVES! Understandably, the mood changed. She did not want to leave. She did not want to leave Savvy. She KNEW they were going to send her home. Clementine and Savvy were in another "nurse line" because they had allergy meds to turn in. In the other line, Clementine heard, "Don't make me stay if 'she' can't stay." Yes, I was feeling the stress myself. I consulted the little camp info packet hoping that some new "fever clause" would magically appear. Finally, it was our turn...what would the judgment be? We dealt with a woman who was not the nurse (nor did she live up to her "camp name" of Tiny). Upon hearing about the fever (I felt the need to explain why my child had the most miserable look on her face: the prospect of not being allowed to stay - I didn't want them to think she was just plain miserable for NO reason), she went to get Tinkerbell (no, her name did not fit her either), the real nurse. She got the same reading, but assured Daughter she could stay. She wanted me to make her get something to drink and finish out the check-in procedure before a temp. recheck. Tinkerbell felt she was overheated. No, I did not share the fact that we had NOT been outside. If she was still "hot" after all that, she would give her an over-the-counter fever reducer. Did I mention how bizarre it was to seriously discuss a health matter with a woman I had to call Tinkerbell? We proceeded to the Trading Post to put money on her account and buy mosquito netting. She's such a girl....she chilled out during the shopping part, eyeing jewelry and other "girlie junk". Then it was time to go back to Tinkerbell. Whew! The temp. had dropped to 99.1....no meds needed and we were free to go to the unit! YAY! Honestly, I had remained stressed until that very moment. We grabbed the "rickshaw-like" cart and headed to the car to load up all the gear. Neither Clementine nor I could resist the urge to make non-politically correct sound effects while pulling on this cart. Sorry. Everyone we spoke to made it sound like Pocahontas was so distant that we would be walking back to NC to get there. Not the case. Though not the closest unit, it was NOT an unbearable trek...thanks to that cart. When we arrived at the unit we were met with some very excited little girls eager to have Daughter and Savvy bunk with them since there were two cots left in their tent. Clementine and I astounded ourselves with our mosquito netting assembly skills. Amazingly we were able to accomplish the assembly while 6 chatterboxes rambled on and on and on and on. I don't know why I even bothered to speak to Daughter once all that started....I felt that I HAD to show her where everything was AGAIN! She was in her element and could care less about where her towels were or where I put any of her stuff....just as it should be, I suppose. She'll find what she needs and, if not, she'll make do or solve the problem herself or with the help of her new friends. We took pictures and video and finally broke away. Is it any surprise that Clementine and I were the last two mom's in the unit? We had a super ride home...making up new verses to the Diarrhea Song even without the presence of any children. Sadly, the ones drawing the most laughter were the ones that involved the "names" of the counselors. We'll save them for the ride home on Friday. We indulged ourselves with Starbucks and some quick shopping at Target and Old Navy. We deserved it after all that mosquito net assembly! In addition to the mail I left at camp to be delivered, I have also written a one-way email that will be printed and delivered to her. Every time the phone rings I worry about the return of the fever and a request to pick her up. As much as I want her with me I know she is going to have the best time and needs to be where she is. YAY....still no tears. :0)

Food & Poor Judgement...the Sworn Enemies of the Day

It turns out there’s only one thing that capuchins really, really love – and that’s sweet stuff. If you give them a big vat of say, marshmallow fluff, and you let them go at it, what they’ll do is eat their body weight in marshmallow fluff, walk away, they’ll vomit, and they’ll come back and eat their body weight again. And they’ll vomit. And they’ll do that for as long as there is marshmallow fluff out there. They love marshmallow fluff. ~ Steve Levitt

I do love me the sweet stuff. My demise today was the chocolate shake from Sonic. I WISH I'd thrown up. I'd feel infinitely better if I threw up. It is now sitting like a rock in my stomach. And, according to the scales at The Cult, it weighs as much as a decent size rock. I was supposed to finish the Maintenance period tonight (meaning that after six weeks I weighed no more than two pounds over my goal). Well, I missed it by 0.4. Four tenths of a friggin' pound! According to The Cult I gained over three pounds this week which is absolute bullshit. It's that freakin' shake sitting in my stomach. I barely ate today BUT I did eat late on weigh-in day. I just should have skipped. I didn't even stay to see if I had to start ANOTHER six weeks. If that's the case, then I will buy my OWN f-ing scale and work the program alone. I refuse to pay for six more weeks now that I know how to work the points. I haven't attended the meetings in months so I basically pay to weigh. Had I known that MOST people set their goal high in their acceptable weight range so they could meet their goal, achieve life time status (so I wouldn't have to pay anymore), and then lose away....I would have done things MUCH differently. Now I can NEVER weigh two pounds over my goal. Yes, this IS a good thing, but knowing that IF I reach life time status and IF I exceed the two-pound "buffer" I have to pay $10 per week until I lose the two f-ing pounds...I would have set the goal a bit higher to avoid paying. $12 per week to weigh since January is adding up and I am ready to stop shelling out my money. Especially when I could be using that money to buy clothes that I desperately need after losing the weight and dropping three sizes! Damn my poor judgement. Damn that milkshake. I wish I were a capuchin....except I would have weighed before devouring more!

Always

Have a happy period. ~ online review of Always product

I have never been one to embrace the television ads for feminine hygiene products. Early on, I remember watching these ads wondering what the heck I was witnessing. As I learned more about the use of such products, the ads became a source of horrific embarrassment. Watching tv in front of any of the male species (and what guy likes seeing this stuff?) when one of these ads appeared was a fate worse than death. However, the commercials for said products were still a bit mysterious....the items were not really shown. Then came the evolution of the feminine hygiene ads into the horror they have become today. Gradually one was able to get a glimpse of the product. To prove their effectiveness they began to be shown absorbing quantities of blue liquid..bringing me to a whole new topic: What IS that blue liquid? WHY is it blue? Why is the blue liquid also used for diaper ads? How long will it take for these ads to evolve once again and be bold enough to defy the accepted use of blue liquid and dive fully into the use of red liquid?
ANYWAY....I spent a few extra minutes this morning watching crap tv. Rather than switching to another channel to watch during a commercial (my typical habit), I just stared at my tv. My mouth gaped open in horror. WHAT WAS THIS?! An Always pad commericial that likened the pad to a pinball machine! The little silver ball bounced back and forth to the pinging sounds associated with pinball machines while it emphasized the leakproof barriers. Does this really make anyone want to buy this product?! Does anyone WANT a pad that pings and dings? Does anyone want a pad with a silver ball bopping around? What must the other ideas proposed to the company have been like if THIS is the one they chose?
So, in summary, we have evolved from never seeing a pad to viewing it as a pinball machine. EGAD!
By the way, in my search for a quote appropriate for this entry, I came across this blog entry about some manly-man guy who wrecked his girlfriend's vehicle. I found it pretty funny. You may want to check it out.

Strange Day Indeed

Nothing is really work unless you would rather be doing something else. ~ James M. Barrie

Abiding by the above quote, every Saturday of summer is absolute, no-doubts-about-it WORK. I would love to be doing anything but working on Saturday in the summer. However, I must admit the bit of money I bring home each week is rather nice, although I won't go so far to say that it is worth it. :0) Inspecting houses for ungrateful tourists is horrible, especially when houses that the tenants deem as "filthy" are, at ANY given moment, cleaner than my own home which is constantly cluttered with the debris associated with everyday life. OK, so I am rambling. My point today is to discuss how interestingly odd my day was. When I arrived at work this morning, I was re-introduced to two Cape Hatteras School alums...one being a former student that just graduated! It was my duty today to teach him how to inspect cottages. I haven't spent a day with this "boy" since he was 6 years old! Now, 12 years later I am teaching him again. Weird. With this inspecting job, there are certain procedures that are to be followed for each and every home. In reality, in order to get all of the houses done on time, all of the procedures cannot be carried out for each house each week. It is impossible without the use of that clicker I've seen Adam Sandler toying with on the movie trailer for "Click". So, here I am trying to show this former student how to properly do each and every house. Then, as time kept slipping away, I finally had to break bad and show him how to "cut corners" when pressed for time. I feel bad about not giving each house the same treatment, but I also hate angry tenants who show up and wait outside their rental home and make snide comments and give nasty looks while pleading with you to let them in. One thought that disturbed me today was thinking about how this job was supplementing my family's income while for him it was just a "summer job". He plans to go to school to be a graphic designer. Ultimately he will make way more money than me and not ever have to supplement his family income with some job that kids consider a "summer job". I am 36 years old, have a Master's degree, and still have to supplement my income with another job. What is wrong with the world?