FlipSide:Starting October 8, 2001

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

Last Updated : Thursday, October 11, 2001 10:00:38 PM -0500

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Monday, October 8, 2001

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(ed - I'm sensing a pattern here. Anyway, it's Monday, she's got a real raw throat and a fall cold-and-flu attack, and so... It's the usual monday thing. She'll be back tomorrow, we hope. -- jd.

Tuesday, October 9, 2001

A day consumed by cold and general illness...

Wednesday, October 10, 2001

Sorry no post for so long. But I have been tired and sick and I am thoroughly tired of being sick. I began losing my voice Sunday night. By today I have started to recover my voice, albeit a rather husky, breathy sounding one, and have started on phase 2, the cough. As if that weren't enough to punish me for my good deeds, I have been waking up in the middle of the night. Not for long periods of time, but just long enough to realize, "Hmmmm. . . I'm awake. Wonder how long this has been going on? What time is it?" After looking at the clock, I slide off to sleep again, only to awaken an hour or two later. To add insult to injury, Gilligan has decided to take up residence upon my feet and Tish has firmly attached himself to my head. At least John has the sense to back off when I am sick. He learned long again that I don't want to be touched, cuddled, coddled, or otherwise bothered when I don't feel well. In fact, I tend to rather violently reject such overtures. He has the bruises to prove it.

Tomorrow is American Pie Day. (Don't ask me who dreams these things up, I have no idea. However, I am completely in favor of this entry. Just imagine the parade for that one! YUM!) In honor of this "holiday" we are having a "Pie Pot Luck" at my office. Everyone has signed up to bring a pie. There will be breakfast pies and lunch pies and, of course, dessert pies. I am bringing Spaghetti Pie for lunch. I look forward to lots of chocolate tomorrow. I know of several people who are buying pies from Baker's Square and PJ Murphy's Bakery. (Owned by one of our employees. Hmmm . . . and the organizer of this potluck. Do I sense a marketing scheme here?) I am just chalking the day up as a total loss nutritionally and going to oink all day.

Last night was our preview of coming attractions for the year, school-wise for Rhiannon. In November she will have her first Reconciliation and in April she will have her first Communion. Landmark events in the life a a young Catholic. In fact, most every Catholic family has a good sized celebration on the occasion of their child's first communion, which recognizes your child's move towards adulthood in the church and full participation in the Mass. We plan to be no exception to this rule. (Hey, I'm Irish. I never let pass a good excuse for a party.)

Reconciliation, also known as Confession, is where good old Catholic guilt really gets going. Not only do you do wrong, you have to go into a little room and tell the priest all about it, to his face, so he can assign you proper penance (also known as punishment) so you can be absolved of your sins. Basically, a good old spanking. Figuratively, of course. (And people wonder why Catholics are so guilt-racked.) I know I was always assigned a few "Our Fathers", a couple of "Hail Marys" and a "Glory Be" or two. Not too onerous, it probably took me all of 5 minutes to rattle them all off. Prayfully, of course. But, it was the telling that was sooooo terribly difficult. Image, a young child of 8 or so, forced to go into a little room and face a strange man, the priest, and tell him all the stuff you did to your little brother 'cause he ticked you off. As an adult, I know he also was once a kid, and that he makes mistakes and has to confess to another priest, and frankly, he talks to way to many people to remember just what particular sin I have committed, (unless of course it is a particularly juicy one) but as a child, you figure these guys are damn near perfect and that Father is going to remember and carefully catalogue each and every one of your transgressions for some later, sinister purpose. (Yes, I was paranoid even at 8. I started young. I was a prodigy that way.) All and all, I didn't find it a particularly edifying experience. I never got a satisfactory answer as to why I needed an intermediary to God. It's not like their were bargaining with God on my behalf or anything. (Now there's a mental image."Come on, a full rosary is waaay to much for hair pulling and general horseplay, how about an 'Our Father' and a 'Hail Mary' and we'll call it even. Okay, I'll thrown in an Act of Contrition, but that is as far as I will go without conferring with my client.")

I have already had the discussion with Rhiannon that her father and I don't agree with that particular tenet of our religion. We have explained, however, that it took us many years of thought to come to this decision (okay, so it was many years of my mother and grandmother standing over me and guilting me into going to confession periodically) so she needs to go along with it and make up her own mind. So far she has bought it.

Hmmm . . . Jodi just stopped by my office to make faces and demonstrate the many and varied uses of her "home lobotomy kit". Apparently the antibiotics she is on are having undocumented side effects. Haven't heard anything about the "the girls" lately. Apparently they are settling into domesticity. (She and Todd, aka Mr. Saturday Night, have decided to form a family and are now sharing an address.) Only wild boobs sing, I guess. And to think, before I met Jodi, I didn't know boobs made noise, let alone sing. Aah, live and learn.

Thursday, October 11, 2001

It's a cruel hoax. I have been informed that today is not, in fact, American Pie Day. It actually occurs in March but has been appropriated by my coworkers for their own caloric edification today. (Of course, it gives us a very good excuse to celebrate it again on it's true day in March. And, since it is now tradition, we will have to again celebrate it on October 11 of next year. You can't mess with tradition, you know. Any grandmother will tell you that.) Today is, however, National Coming Out Day. Hmmm . . . I guess we are all celebrating Coming Out of our houses today . . .

Oh my God. You should see the spread at my office. Pies as far as the eye can see. There are three different quiches (one with Hollandaise sauce) 2 pumpkin pies, lemon supreme pie, apple pies, peach pies, crustless chocolate chip mini pies, and, a late arrival, my absolute favorite pie in the WORLD, peanut butter cup pie. For lunch we have individual pizza pies and spaghetti pie. We shall graze the day away. And probably tomorrow too. There are definitely benefits to being in an office dominated by women.

You know, it is amazing what a little sugar will do for you in the morning. Okay, maybe it was a LOT of sugar. And a large cup of hazelnut coffee. Okay, so I am drifting away in a haze of chemically induced energy. Hmmm. . . drifting sounds way to . . . peaceful and passive for what I am feeling. Perhaps it should be jiggling. Jumping. Fidgeting. Running. I think you get the point. So sue me. It sure has made me perky. And it has done wonders for my typing speed. YAHOO. I have been torturing John by emailing him my pie choices as I proceed through the day. He keeps replying, in less and less polite terms, that he has oatmeal, so just shut up! Hehehehehehehe. I am evil. Oooo, now he has threatened to relegate my emails to his "spam hell" directory. Oh oh, he's serious now.

And the sugar seems to be affecting my coworkers as well. As we sat at our communal table in the lunchroom the conversation ebbed and flowed, then veered into the strange. It started with explaining Catholic rituals, most notable "Reconciliation", to a table of non-Catholics. Always a strange conversation. Then Cindy began discussing the strict Southern Baptist Church of her mother's youth. "It was very strict. They weren't allowed to wear any make-up or jewelry or pants." At this point, Christian, our young IT Manager, looking half-bemused and half-interested, looked at Cindy and asked "No pants? Then what did they wear to church?" Apparently he was imagining a congregation of half naked southern belles. I think he was briefly interested in converting until Cindy explained that the women only wore skirts. The men could wear pants. In fact it was encouraged. Poor guy.

Last night I was feeling under the weather so made a kind of cheaters dinner out of a modified Hamburger Helper. I say modified as I never make a box meal without tweaking it a bit. Tonight it was some sort of Cheese Melt thing that I added fat free sour cream, winchestershire sauce, and black beans too. Pretty good. Anyway, John is supposed to be watching his sodium (his BP yesterday was 156/108, and that was an improvement! Yikes!), so I asked him to look at the box and let me know if it had too much sodium for him.
He says "define too much".
"Well, how much are you supposed to have, dear."
"I dunno".

So, how exactly has he been watching his sodium intact for the last two weeks? Carefully reading labels for the word "salty"? (Jeez. All that internet savvy and he couldn't find a website to tell him just how much sodium he should be consuming? But he could find puking pumpkin pictures. Sigh. Priorities.) I had to get out one of my Cooking Light magazines and educate him as to just how much sodium he is supposed to have in a day (2400 mg if you were wondering). I also pointed out to him that most labels have a column for the "percentage of the RDA" for sodium. Of course, that is for a 2000 calorie diet, and being male, he is on a 2700 calorie one.

Well, tonight is Brownie night. No, not the food, I'm stuffed. Girl Scouts. Our first meeting of the year. 1 1/2 hours of giggly, active 8 year old girls. Maybe I had better keep my sugar level up. Better hit the pies again!

Friday, October 12, 2001

Saturday, October 13, 2001

Sunday, October 14, 2001

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