FlipSide:Starting April 2nd, 2001

A journal of the trials, tribulations, and triumphs in the life of a woman in the 21st century.

I hate wall air conditioners. There is no happy medium. You are either too warm or absolutely frigid. It is in the low nineties today with dew points in the seventies, and I am sitting in my apartment in sweats 'cause it is too cool in here. I can't wait until I have a house with central air so I can have a little finer control of the indoor temperature.

Ever notice how is seems whenever you made a resolution to change some behavior for the better, temptation immediately presents itself? Are the gods laughing at us or something? I was inspired today. I read an article in Weight Watchers Magazine about a woman, now a WW leader, who could have been me. She joined WW and lost 70 pounds in about 9 months. Then she fought with the same 30 pounds for 4 years. Finally, one morning she got up and said to herself "okay, either do WW right or don't do it at all." She shed those last 30 pounds and became a highly successful leader. I have an almost identical problem. I lost 55 pounds in about 9 months in 1999. Since that time, I have been fighting with the same 10 pounds. After reading that article last night, I was inspired. Okay, I thought. I am going to just work the plan, no more half-assed stuff.

Then I got out of bed. I come in this morning to an email from our VP of HR. In honor of our IT Manager's brother being in the office today, she is buying pizza for the office. Okay, I think, I can handle this. I will just skip the pastries at the monthly staff meeting and drink a Slim Fast instead. Feel pretty good about myself for that one.

Go to WW and get the ugly news I had been expecting, partially due to timing and partially due to bad behavior, I am up. Go back and have pizza for lunch. I suspect eating pizza after a bad weigh in was not one of my better strategies. Tsk tsk tsk. Oh well, I think, I can overcome this. I will just behave the rest of the day and have a light dinner. Another email comes. In honor of the many late July and early August birthdays, there is chocolate cake in the kitchen. Sigh. The gods are against me (as is my will power, especially right NOW. Women know what I am talking about.) I have failed the first tests of my new resolve. Well, today was today. I just need to move on.

Marcia Bilbrey is trying to convince me of the wonders of non-electrical camping. She says what we did isn't real camping. Hey, I slept in a tent. I had no air conditioning. There were bugs. And dirt. And a fire. Things were cooked over said fire. IT WAS CAMPING, DAMNIT. Now, you must understand, I am a high maintenance woman. (Don't know what a high maintenance woman is? Ask my husband or rent When Harry Met Sally.) By definition, "high maintenance" requires electricity, at the very least. (For true comfort, my king size soft sided waterbed is a necessity. If I am away from home, room service, maid service, and a fully stocked bar are all highly desirable extras. None of these amenities were available, so in my book, I was roughing it, thank you very much.)

However, I have found that there are apparently people even less outdoorsy that me going camping these days. In the Cabela's catalogue, my husband found an apparently indispensable item for some. A gas powered blender. That's right, a blender, powered by propane. (Is there a portable wet bar as well? Is it a set? This definitely is NOT in the Scouting Handbooks, so I am at a loss. Must be part of the James Bond Camping Handbook.) So when you are deep in the wilderness, you can pull this baby out of your backpack for cocktail hour. "Anybody want a margarita?" Vroommmmm . . . (Can't you just picture someone in a Donna Karan flannel shirt and Gucci hiking boots with one foot on a stump, ripping on a pull cord attached to a blender? Geez, what other gas powered implements are they going to be bringing into the wilderness? No, don't tell me, I just don't want to go there. (And Jodi, just keep those thoughts to yourself.) If a blender is that much of a necessity to you that you are contemplating spending that ungodly sum of money for a gas powered blender, just save us all the grief and get a room at the Hilton, for chrissake. It will save the taxpayers the money the park rangers will otherwise spend to haul your drunken Gucci ass out of the wilderness when you catch something in the damn motor. I'm not that hopeless. If I want a margarita, I can take my normal blender to my nice electrical campsite. My blender only cost about $20 at Target. My mama didn't raise no fool.

Today is the last day of July. Which makes me say "Where the hell has the year gone?" We are over half-way through 2001. I am a year older. My children are a year closer to teenage (YIKES!) My husband is a year closer to his grave. And what do I have to show for it? Ever notice the older you get, the faster time passes. I can remember seemingly endless summer days when I was a kid. When school got out in May, the summer held infinite possibilities. Each day was an adventure. In June, I typically had swimming lessons in the morning, early enough that the water was terribly cold. (Why did my mother always sign us up for the earliest swimming lessons?) Then we would go home, have an early lunch. Sometimes I would go explore the woods behind our house. Or go beyond it to the bluff and pond. I could spend hours wandering around there. Pretending I was a pioneer. I suppose my mother had some idea where I was. May would fade into June, which slowly meandered into July. The fourth of July always was the gateway to school. In Iowa, we started school towards the end of August, so when the fourth of July hit, you knew back to school sales were sure to follow. And by the time mid August approached, I was always ready to go back. Not that I would admit it to anyone, that just wasn't cool, ya' know.

Friday I received an invitation to my brother Bret's wedding. My youngest birth brother. I am honored to be included in this most important day in his life. I am excited to go, but also a bit apprehensive. Of my three birth brothers, I know him the least. I will be surrounded by my birth family, many of whom I have never met. I know my brothers and their families, although primarily by email. My birth parents I see a couple of times a year. I know I have my family to support me, and that helps. I know I will have a good time while I am there, I am just going to, well, brood upon it for a while.

Today I also had the dubious pleasure of hearing my company bashed on talk radio. A state senator from Fergus Falls, Cal Larson, has never been a fan of the WCRA. As an insurance agent, he feels, I think, that the workers' compensation reinsurance market in Minnesota should be opened up to the competitive marketplace. Never mind the fact that we have collected over $1 billion in premiums over the last 20 years and, through good investments, managed to make enough money to cover our reserves, plus refund our members and policyholders $1.25 billion. Yes, that is not a typo, we have refunded more money in premiums that we have collected. Mostly due to the good stock market we had been enjoying. When's the last time your insurance company gave you back part of your premiums? Didn't think so. Senator Larson has attempted to introduce legislation to have us outright abolished. When that has failed, he has attempted to put amendments on unrelated bills that would make us a part of the Department of Commerce (we are an independent nonprofit agency, regulated by the Department of Labor and Industry.) He has attempted to add amendments that would require the WCRA to publish the names of all employees, their salaries, and our business expenses. Frankly, I consider it an invasion of my privacy to have my name, title, and salary released to the general public. I am not a state employee. We are not taxpayer supported.

Anyway, Senator Larson has succeeded in getting some media attention lately. Since our president is the DFL endorsed candidate for mayor of St. Paul, the media is interested in what Cal has to say. We have been in the newspaper 3 times within a week. And today, Senator Larson was on the radio. Unfortunately for us, he didn't come across as a drooling, cock-eyed fanatic, but as a reasonable man. Jodi regularly listens to this radio program and alerted us to the program. So, for about an hour this afternoon, we all listened, first as Cal gave his side of why the WCRA is not a good idea (funny how a lot of that seemed to revolve around Jay and his campaign for mayor and how much he makes - comparable to other insurance company executives). After Cal got off, our legal counsel, Buzz called in and gave our side of the story. To the credit of the talk show host, he admitted through the entire program that he really didn't understand reinsurance. He promised to look into the situation and call both parties back. All of this would be fine and dandy public debate except for the fact that, as a legislative monopoly, we can be abolished. On my first day, I was going through the company handbook with the VP of HR and I distinctly remember my panic when she pointed out the section on "severance packages". What!!! I had just left a company that was closing it's doors. She explained to me that provision is there should the legislature ever abolish us. For that reason, we are not overly thrilled with a lot of public attention. We do our job very well, better than the open market had done, but, with the legislature, you never know what could happen. And frankly, I like my job.

After raining a good part of the day today, we managed to lower our temperatures for a while. By the time I came hom tonight, however, it was back to 90 degrees. And, since it had rained all day, it was still humid. Sigh. It has be break sometime, doesn't it.

My husband is a strange man. I picked up the kids and beat him home tonight. What was one of the first thing my beloved says to me as he after he comes through the door? "I do dance like the gopher from Caddyshack." (I had been telling him that for years, but evidently he thought I was jesting.) Apparently at work today, something made him very happy so he was kinda doing the happy dance around the office and he started to think, gee, my butt is wiggling, my gut is shaking, I DO dance like that damn gopher. hehehehehe Actually, it's rather cute.

(ed: Clearly, the heat has gotten to her - it was after dinner was prepared, as we were working to feed the kids. I'm blaming the heat, because I'm sure it's not old age, yet... -- jd).

Speaking of cute, my children got me drenched today. Today was the semi-annual trip to the dentist. They love to go. No I am not being sarcastic. They actually love to go to the dentist. (That'll change, my eldest is already a candidate for orthodontia. Cross-bite and crowded teeth.) In fact, I think Rhiannon has a crush on Dr. Brent. He is about 25, I think, and is very good with kids. Anyway, while we were in the dentist's office, the rain started. At first, it was just a gentle rain. By the time we finished and were heading out to the cars, it was monsoon time. John offered to go out and get my car and drive it to the door, but I didn't see the logic of him getting completely soaked (okay, so I did see the logic, I just didn't think it would be fair) plus I deluded myself into believing that the rain would lighten up a bit. It couldn't go on that hard for long. I was oh so very wrong. We were parked no more than 200 feet from the door and we were all drenched by the time we made it to the car. Then I had to unlock it and belt Jack into his car seat. And Jack chose that moment to imitate his sister, Her Royal Highness, the Queen of Putz. Apparently he is gunning for the position of Crown Prince. I finally got him to sit down so I could belt him in, but the back of my shirt and jeans were absolutely wringing wet. Now you would think, with as hot as it has been, that it would be a warm rain. Oh no, the gods could not be so kind. It was frigid rain, kinda like ice cubes were melting in the sky. My pants didn't completely dry up until about 3 o'clock this afternoon. And since it is always cold in my office anyway, I was very very very cold all day.

Rhiannon is going to spend a week with Grandma and Grandpa in St. Cloud next week. She is very excited. She will also get to spend a day with her "god guys". (That is how Rhiannon refers to her godparents and their five kids. She figures if Brian and Alicia are her godparents, then their kids must be her godbrothers and sisters. Can't really fault the logic there.) Anyway, we ~~dump her~~, ahem, we take her up on Saturday and will bring her back again the following Saturday. As I said, she is very excited, but, as the day comes closer, she is starting to get a little apprehensive too. She has never been away from Mom and Dad before (at least, that she remembers). We have set up an email address, so she can email us, she will go up with our work numbers and cell phone numbers and she knows her home number. I figure about Monday or Tuesday, she may start getting homesick. So her trip to Alicia's is set for Wednesday, then Thursday, Grandma goes into town for a doctor's appointment so they are doin' the town that day. That leaves Friday, which is the last day, and we will be back on Sunday. Hopefully she will have enough to look forward to so she won't get too homesick. I suspect I will be more homesick for her than she is for me, though. My baby! I think Jack is really going to miss her. He has never been an only child.

My day started off really well. Things seemed to be going my way. My motivation was good. I was confident. Then, late in the morning, things started going south. Things really beyond my control. Work went from very organized, low priority stuff to absolute chaos. First one thing was the top priority, then another fire popped up, needing to be stomped out while the former top priority continued at a slow burn. Sigh. Things at home continued the long slow slide to hell. The daycare bill came in higher than expected. The apartment complex wants to do some remodeling, right where I have a lot of stuff stored. They basically gave us an ultimatum, move the stuff by the 8th OR ELSE. Gotta love that. So, my Sunday is now booked. Now, I know none of these things are insurmountable. Neither of them come even close to qualifying as the worst thing to happen to us. Hell, there not even in the running for the worst thing to happen to me this year. So I am trying not to obsess about this, but I come from a very long line of brooders.

I would type something funny and light- hearted here, but, you know, I don't have anything particularly witty to say. So, I am going to drown my sorrows in Diet Sprite and perhaps an orange dream bar. Nighty-night.

I have been accused, with some justice, that I am a bit too concerned with the details. This came up this morning as I was getting a simple pitcher of water and 5 glasses for Jane's meeting with our actuarial consultant. All I was doing was looking for 5 matching glasses. Not overly anal, I thought. WRONG-O. Eva stood there and laughed at me. Said I was waaayyy too anal. The polite phrase is "detail oriented", thank you very much. Let's see, I work for actuaries. Before that I worked for lawyers. And before that I worked in mortgage banking/loan servicing. See a trend here? DETAIL ORIENTED. When I set the table, we must have matching plates. And matching silverware, if I can manage it. (With kids, that is a near miraculous happening, let me tell ya'.)

Now, I could wish that others paid at least a little more attention to the details. The details like matching clothes. I swear to God, my husband needs Garanimals. Not for himself, mind you, he is very careful to buy lots of black pants, so he doesn't have to worry about his shirt matching them. Or blue jeans. But he also dresses my son. Today, John hurriedly dressed Jack and practically ran out the door. Pecked me on the cheek while I was brushing my teeth. (Very romantic, a light kiss on the cheek with a mouth full of toothpaste.) Then I saw my son. Purple Snoopy tee-shirt and red shorts. Bright true red shorts. Nononononononononono, my son is not going to be seen in public looking like he was dressed by a color blind gorilla in a dark closet. So I went back into the bedroom and found a pair of purple shorts for the poor kid to wear (the weren't quite the same shade of purple, but they were a damn site better than red.) Now I know why he couldn't even wait for me to spit out the toothpaste, he was afraid I would see his son and (justly) chastise him for his fashion faux paux. You would think my little seven year old fashion maven would have said something, wouldn't you? Nope, she gave her dad the OK to put the eye watering combination on her brother. After all, it wasn't on her, so she didn't care. I'm guessing her father is not going to be trusting her judgment when he goes shopping for Mommy presents anytime soon.

(ed - Sure. Come all the way from one side of the apartment to the other to say goodbye, running late, and I take the time to give her a kiss on the cheek - and I get abused for it. Lovely. Though, I guess, it could be worse. I've not been neutered or declawed yet - a very real possibility given the $80 charge we paid for the cats. My wife, she likes cheap, damaging medical procedures. But I digress. And for the record, I'm not colorblind. I've passed for a gorilla on occasion, but that's about as far as we'll go with that. -- jd)

Then there is my bus driver. The one who is always late to the bus stop. Although our bus is scheduled to leave the stop at 7:20, she usually isn't there until then and it takes a good 5 minutes or more to load the bus, so we don't usually pull out until 7:30. Today, as it is Friday and August and a lot of people are on vacation, she apparently made good time and she left the stop 2 minutes early. So I watched the bus pull out of the park and ride at 7:18 instead of 7:20. Now, I realize that 2 minutes may seem like nit-picking to some, but when it is a bus, people depend on these schedules. Eiyiyi. So I had to wait for the next bus (which, by the way, arrived, loaded, and left on time at 7:55.) Sigh.

Details, people, details. They make the world go round. They are not unimportant.

I received this picture today. Would you buy your steaks from this outfit? I think a little more thought was needed before they named their ranch. I really hope it is a hobby and not a serious business venture or I foresee a Chapter 11 filing in their future.

Okay, I take exception to the study that Al Hawkins linked to today. Red-headed women 'more likely to be unfaithful'.[ First of all, the headline of the story is a fallacy, as the story goes on to say that it is women who dye their hair red. (Blondes may have more fun, but Redheads have fire, baby!) (ed - That's what worries me -- jd). And secondly, if it were that easy to judge a person's character, you wouldn't be able to get off of jury duty by saying "I can tell if the defendant is guilty by how close his eyes are together!" (ed - Of course you can - closer eyes = smaller skulls; smaller skulls = smaller brains; smaller brains = easier to catch; easier to catch = GUILTY -- jd).And besides, the study was done in Italy. "Italian sexologist Willy Pasini (ed - And Italian named "Willy"? Right. Methinks it was a German who took a wrong turn and just kept going. Us Germans are famous for stuff like that -- jd).confirmed 'women associate new hair colours and make-up with sexual adventures'." (We do? Gee, I just associate it with, I don't know, hair color. General appearance. Not, "hey, think I'll jump his bones. Now that my hair's a different color, who's gonna know?") They actually have people in jobs called "sexologists" in Italy. As in, they study sex all day? (ed - Like teenagers? Or males of any age? -- jd). That's all they do? Does that make the whole damn country obsessed with sex? Sure makes it sound like they are. Sheese. And that's the country the Pope's in. No wonder he thinks the world is going to hell in a handbasket. Image what he sees when he looks off his balcony. Italian women, with their hair dyed red, throwing themselves at men in the plaza.

(ed - I get it! The Pope's not offering a blessing - it's "Hey, you idiots! Off the grass! Get a freakin' ROOM!" -- jd).

Was a long day in St. Cloud, didn't get back until late and then hubby claimed the computer. Talk to ya' tomorrow.

Well, I am down to one child. It feels . . . strange. Jack has been on his best behavior. Probably partially because he doesn't lack for attention and partially because he has no one to share the blame with (or to shift the blame to). As we told him, no matter what happens this week, we KNOW who did it. A friend of ours told us one that to truly call oneself a parent, one must have more than one kid. Otherwise, there is no detective work involved. You KNOW who done it, so there is no challenge. Of course, his advice is somewhat suspect, considering he now has FIVE children, so we know he is clinically insane.

(ed - the only question remaining is whether he was before the children or if they drove him to it. Having known him in High School, my money's on the former. I've got proof. Just ask. -- jd.)

Yesterday we took the kids up to Grandma and Grandpa's. Daddy had been promising all week (since the wall climbing episode) to show the kids his favorite tree and to teach them to climb it. And so Saturday dawned, beastly hot and humid, with a heat index of 107 degrees. And my husband had promised to teach our children to climb trees. They were not about to let him weasel out of it. God knows he tried. He even pointed that Rhiannon's chosen outfit for the day was hardly suited to climbing trees (a denim miniskirt). Rhiannon just shrugged. She apparently was unconcerned with her father and brother seeing her underpants. And Mom doesn't count either.

	First up, Rhiannon (with Jack on deck, waiting with his characteristic lack of patience.) Surprisingly, my cautious daughter had absolutely no fear when it came to climbing trees. (For once, she had to be reminded that my emergency room copay is $60.) Each time she got a turn, she went higher in the tree. And each time, John admonished her to always think as she is climbing, how will she get down. Her last time up, she seemed to forget that advice and seemed to be treed like a kitten. Since we really weren't in the mood for calling the fire department to fetch our daughter out of a tree on the riverbank, John talked her down. Thus ended the tree climbing for her for the day. I advised her that she may not want to be climbing trees this week when Daddy wasn't there to talk her down, since I didn't think her aunts would be able to fetch her and she didn't want to sleep in the tree like an owl. Being a sensible sort (unlike her brother) she agreed.
She looks awfully pleased with herself, doesn't she? Notice she has her legs closed so I didn't get a picture of her underwear.
	Amazingly, Jack was a little uncertain about the whole venture once his turn came. Not that the kid was at all willing to forgo his turn, mind you, he just wasn't as adventurous as usual. It could have to do with the fact that he isn't as tall as his sister and so couldn't reach the branches quite as easily. Or maybe he is showing some fear? Nah, that couldn't be it, 'cause as soon as he was on the ground, he wanted to try again. Isn't it intriguing how, once he is on terra firma, he suddenly thinks that what he was afraid of a few minutes ago was a great adventure. Now THAT, my friends, is that Y chromosome kicking in.
He's pretty pleased with himself when his butt is firmly on the branch.
	After the tree had been suitably conquered and shown who was boss, it was time to relax and watch a movie with Grandpa Jack. Jack is almost too long to use grandpa as his personal recliner. He looked up at his grandfather from his vantage point and exclaimed "You have fur in your nose just like daddy. And in your ears too!" Cute kid. Is it a sign of age in men to grow hair in previously fairly hairless orifices?

All through the movie, Rhiannon snuggled with Momma in a chair. Although she was excited to be staying with grandma and grandpa, she was fairly tearful when Mom and Dad (and baby brother) were leaving. She said she wanted to stay, but cried as she said it. As I walked to the car, I was kinda tearing up myself, so I put my sunglasses on. She has never been away from Mommy for more than a few hours that she can remember. About an hour later, as we were driving home, she called us on my cell phone to say good-night. She was feeling better and looking forward to Wednesday, when she gets to spend the day with her "God Guys" (her godparents and their five kids).

When we got home, the cats looked at us, puzzled, as if to say, "Aren't you missing someone?" They like Rhiannon best, I think, she can always be counted on to pet them (unlike the older occupants of the household who are often busy doing things that they think are completely unnecessary when compared to fondling the feline inhabitants) and not to be too exuberant about it, unlike the other small fry in the house. Today we did a little housecleaning, ate some omelets for breakfast (John makes most excellent omelets) and headed to the YMCA to cool off in their indoor pool. It was way too hot (heat index predicted to be about 112 degrees) to use the outdoor pool. Jack has been thriving with the undivided attention of both his parents, but he misses "Sissy". We haven't heard from her yet today, so that is a good sign. But I can't help but worry about her. I think everyone around here will be up pretty early next Saturday to go and get her.

It was 8:00 and we had yet to hear from our eldest. So John called her up. Apparently we tore her away from Cats. John asked her what she had done all day.

"Uh, well, I don't know. Watched some movies."
"Do you want me to let you go back and watch some more?" asked Daddy.
"Yeah. Is Mommy there?"

"No, I sold her for mad money!" He didn't actually say that, but I am sure it went through his mind as he was a bit put out. Since he was extremely disgusted with his eldest offspring's lack of any sign that she missed him, he handed the phone over to me. He needn't have envied me. I got about 5 minutes of conversation from her (at least remembered herself enough to tell me my macaroni and cheese was better than the "Easy Mac" that Grandma had given her for dinner) mostly regarding the movies she had seen that day and then she talked to her brother. I talked to my mother-in-law longer than I spoke to her. Sheese. I guess I don't need to worry about the little runt's sensibilities, now do I? I know I should be happy she isn't all sad and scared, but damnit, she could act like she misses me a little. Jeez.

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Copyright © 2001 Ann Dominik. All rights reserved. Complaints about the technical details of this page can be directed to the abused geek who takes care of it for me, and is grossly underpaid for what he does, he thinks. No reproduction without written permission. The opinions and content of this site are my own, and not the responsibility of this site's host, my employer, my pets, my parents or anyone else you may care to blame. Please respect my opinions and I will do the same for you. I may on occasion publish e-mail to me; if you do not wish your mail to be published, please write CONFIDENTIAL or DO NOT PUBLISH at the top of the e-mail. If you would prefer to remain anonymous, please note that as well. If you're incapable of reasoned civilized discourse but feel compelled to correspond with me, I'll be happy to filter your mail out after a few choice comments regarding your ancestors, upbringing, and the likelihood of your family tree not