Archive for the ‘pride’ Category

Time bandits and promises

time_bandits.jpgFor a while now my parents and I stopped doing the big old gift exchange during the holidays. My father has always said, “Christmas is for kids.” It also doesn’t hurt that they bought me a washer and dryer this year. At that rate my father usually says, “You have Christmas all year anyway.”
So instead we usually do the large dinner and I decorate my own apartment — filling it to the brim with Christmas lights and garland. This year I took my Christmas tree over to their house. And I bought them both two presents. My mother seemed pleased but looked at me disapprovingly — begging to know how much I spent. To that I just said,
“You guys have done so much for me. Just let me do this for you.”
I made dad open his early. I was too eager. So on Christmas Eve I saw his eyes light up to the DVD of Time Bandits I bought him. We watched that movie so much, I grew up saying, “The little one?” If you have seen the movie you know what I’m talking about. There are these six little people and well, nevermind. Just know we quote this movie on a semi-regular.
My parents have the movie on one of those huge laser disk things. Not the sleek ones you see today. But the ones that looked like enormous 8-tracks. You had to inject the disks into this contraption and pull down a little lever. My parents still have a bunch of classics in those crazy things (The Muppet Movie, Star Wars, Richard Pryer’s Raw) but the old player doesn’t work anymore, of course. I spent years in my late teens, early 20s looking for Time Bandits on video cassette and could never find it. And then there it was, among all the other DVDs at Borders. Duh.
On to mom. One of the things I got her was a new cookbook. I bought her Nigella Lawson because I was sure she already had all the others — The Barefoot Contessa, Paula Deen, Tyler Florence …But I was wrong. She didn’t have any of them! Just Rachael Ray who I HATE! Anyway, I offered to exchange it but she wouldn’t have it. She was happy to see a different Food Network star in her hands. Which if you know my mother, you would know that she will just read the book but not use it. She likes to sit and read cookbooks. Her arthritis and feet are so bad now and combined with her extra weight, it is hard for her to stand at long periods of time. In fact this was one year that Christmas dinner was a complete chore and she elected my father and me to help. We didn’t start eating until nearly 3 p.m.! But every year she insists on cooking. And every year she complains more and more.

So I said that I was going to cook next year — at my apartment. I hate cooking in someone else’s kitchen. I told her she has a whole year to train in order to be able to go up my stairs. In return I promised a wonderful meal in a lovely Christmas setting. Dad of course will bring his famous cabbage and greens. As for the turkey, that’s going to be cooked at a local restaurant that does that kind of thing. No need in me taking on EVERYTHING quite yet. A turkey? By myself? Hell no.

When college honor goes too far.

Did anyone read the latest on the guy who literally lost his balls  to the fact that he was a UT supporter? Well, sure he kind of egged on that OU guy and he may have been ready to have a real fight about the whole UT shirt wearing thing but still. To rip out someone’s scrotum?!

My assistant is an OSU grad. She was the one who sent me the link today to this story. Being an OSU gal, she keeps up on all things university scandal in the big Okla. This has got to take the cake. The OU/UT thing is HUGE here. Fights break out every year. There is plenty of public intoxication. There is plenty of rough-housing. I think this is a first.

What’s worse (and you really need to read that link above and laugh at the visual on the right that was posted with the story!) is that the guy who “yanked” the jewels so to speak is a deacon! That’s right. A God-fearing Christian pulled another man’s balls off.

Why is college honor so damn important?! I went to a school with no real sports following. We were bad at b-ball, didn’t have a football team and our wheelchair team was really our all-stars (great chaps by the way and gorgeous). We had the regular frats and sororities. I chose not to pledge although both my parents were involved in them. I had no interest. College media was my “thing.”

My father has a brand on his arm honoring his frat and had some strange hazing crap he had to do while in college. However I don’t think the levels of love of one’s university fell into such extremes back then. No matter the ribbing, and compounded with the fact that he is supposed to be a peace-loving person, what on earth could have possibly been said or done to warrant a deacon performing a public maiming?!

Delete my comments…

I have to say this though I know I’ve probably hit my rant quota for the week. If you have read the post below you have a little insight as to why I’m scrawling my latest.

I’ll shut up now…I have to really give it to intelligent bloggers. There are so many out there. They discuss just about everything and speak their mind. I speak my mind as well. I say what I want after reading your post and you are free to approve it or delete it. But one thing is for sure, please decide against altering it. All this does is reflect something that isn’t the truth of what was said.

Trust and believe I have moments where I cuss like a sailor. If you don’t like that, please put up a little disclaimer where it can easily be found and say so. I will respect your wishes. It’s your right and I respect everyone’s rights.

I love debate. And arguments and disagreements don’t scare me much. I think we all can use getting a little oxygen pumping in our blood as we get flush faced about something we don’t agree with — that is what makes us passionate.

I’m a chick. I cuss. You may not like it. You may think it “lowbrow.” Just delete.

Please and thank you.

Nearly 30, still learning…

There is just something about spouting off stuff in the blog-o-sphere. You encounter wonderful people along the way and as you do, you can strike new friendships. There is just something electrifying about being in front of people who get to know you for the first time…

Why is this so refreshing???

Well, one thing I’ve learned recently: Never say too much to people close to you. Even if there is a huge history there. Why? Well, because they will always have enough ammunition to put you away (sometimes literally) with their actions or words and/or use your secrets against you for things that you never intended.

A major lesson: Don’t admit things you have always wanted to say, no matter for how long. People can possibly in turn misinterpret them and use them for their own amusement. My mother is someone who is really big on saying people are always jealous. She says three things (more or less in this fashion) on a daily basis:

1.) People play politics so learn the game.

2.) People are jealous of you when they see that your are progressing in your life.

3.) You need God in your life to have a sense of purpose.

I have a little trouble with the jealousy part: I’m not someone who constantly thinks people are jealous or envious of me. But my mother believes that people who ultimately do the most harm to you are people who are not fully happy with their lives and lash out at people who go after the things that (hopefully) ultimately will make them succeed or keep them content.

To me that is narcissism to believe people give that much of a damn for you, even though at times I catch myself repeating her words just because I want to have an answer to why people can be so blatantly cruel. So, to a point, I’m guilty of this “narcissism” on occasion. However if I believed the things my mother believed on a daily basis, my head would inflate. But I do have to ask, is it such a bad thing to be puffed up about yourself? I mean afterall it is truly YOU who you have to rely on in the end when people, such as doting parents, pass away.

All of that said, my mother needs to add a fourth to her list, though I know it’s an addition she agrees with whole-heartedly: Never say too much to who you think you can “trust.”

Doing no. 1 prevents that. And after nearly 30 years now of living, I only now fully understand what she meant.

Realizing no. 2 prevents heartache in the end.

Grasping no. 3, well…I’m working on that…

the pressure of walking on eggshells

You wouldn’t think I would give much of a poo to walk on eggshells when my blog clearly reads as someone who says what she wants. But that isn’t ALWAYS the case. Maybe that is why I’m here.

Recently I discovered the agony of trying not to say something you are aching to say and in turn nodding in agreement and/or trying the most painfully diplomatic way to communicate a point or answer a question. My boss had me doing this after he asked me my thoughts about a coworker. I felt like I had just given birth by the time I tap-danced around all those damn shells that fell before me. Situations and people will make you do this — even when in most of your life you say what is on your mind. Guilty as charged. You have to do this because it keeps things as smooth as possible. 

But when you don’t, it just makes things harder for you because usually, and not so much in the case of work, who you are doing this well-crafted dance around has a history of taking you out of context…lost in translation. And a lot of times compounding that with the assumption that everything said has something to do with them when it never did in the first place. And when they do this, they can’t ever let you forget it. So for the most part you just learn to nod. It’s easier and you keep the peace, making sure not to stray too much from this ritual because you know it will not end well if you do.

I don’t think I can do that anymore. Unless my shell dance meant making the choice between keeping my way of life and walking around with a “Will work for food sign.” Otherwise doing all that shuck and jiving will eventually make you fall to your knees.

I did a happy dance in new shoes…

Why did I just do a really bouncy, silly dance about a pair of new shoes? Could it have been the margarita I had prior to finding these great shoes? Or is it just that I never get to treat myself anymore to a pair of shoes that were over $20?

You see, I used to be a real shoe freak. And at times I think I still may be. Today I broke the heel off of a really great pair of rare looking, purple/pink shoes. I was just talking to my assistant and was suddlenly lumpsided. My right leg dropped and I looked down to see that these wonderful shoes I’ve had for nearly 10 years (yes 10 years) had finally had their day. What did I do? I went to the car (barefoot)after laughing and mouring the stupid things and put on sneakers. I looked like such an old soccer mom, but without the kids. I felt my age. I felt how old those shoes had gotten and how far I’ve come from when I bought them.

When you get older you realize a few things about luxury:

Money really doesn’t just appear after you charge stuff and magically pay off the debt you created trying to look as fabulous as possible.

Haggling is a badge of honor to be worn with pride, not something to be ashamed of.

After you have spent a day of obtaining hard-earned money, and realizing you just still aren’t being paid enough, those items that seemed to be easily at reach are suddenly held victim to being reevaluated.

I’m not entirely sure if I still long for the days of, “Who cares, I’ll pay later.” But I do understand that older means living differently now. And that when I get a pair of new shoes, they mean more than they would have ever meant in my past.