FlipSide:Starting CHANGE ME, 2002

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

Last Updated : Friday, April 05, 2002 10:13 PM -0600

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Monday, April 1, 2002

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Tuesday, April 2, 2002

If April showers bring May flowers, just what, pray tell, does April snow bring? God decided to play one big April Fools Joke on the upper Midwest yesterday and made it snow. What the weather forecasters were predicting were flurries, maybe an inch or 2 at most. What we got was about 5-6 inches, by my estimation. The snow was supposed to start mid morning yesterday and taper to flurries by evening. Um, no, thank you for playing. What we GOT was heavy snow starting mid morning yesterday, tapering to flurries last evening, then kicking up again overnight. Now, I like snow. I am even rather fond of winter. But it is APRIL FOR CHRISSAKE! I told you people we were gonna pay for the nice weather we were having earlier this winter. I told you, I told you.

I'll leave the horror stories of the move to John. Suffice to say that I told each and everyone of our friends who helped move us that I am NEVER moving again. I'm just building onto the damn house I got. I don't care if the damn thing gets to be 10 stories tall. The only way I'm moving out of that house is toes first. Yes, dear, even if we win the lottery. (Which is the only way I will ever be able to afford to build on THAT much.)

Well, I am slowing finding things at the new house. Most of my kitchen has been rediscovered, so at least one room of the house is set up. I am, however, out at least a pair of jeans. I can't find the damn things anywhere!!! The kids are quite happy with their own rooms, and are, miracle of miracles, actually going to sleep at a reasonable hour. Seems being separated helps greatly in that regard.

Speaking of my children, one would think, knowing monkey-boy as I do, that one of the chief attractions of the new house would be the backyard. Especially the jungle gym. Well, you would think that. However, what MY children have been the most enamored with is the new cable TV company. (Mom is much LESS enamored with them, but that is another story I'll get to.) You see, MediaCom carried the Cartoon Network. Disney Channel has been replaced in the affections of my offspring by endless reruns of Scooby Doo. Not to mention Power Puff Girls, Samurai Jack, Justice League (that which was Super Friends when I was a kid), and other animated fare. There is only so much animation an adult can take. OH MY GOD. Why do all animated character speak in high squeaky voices? (Other than Michael Dorn, Worf from Star Trek-Next Generation and DS9. I swear, he provides a voice in every single Cartoon Network show. The man must be making a mint off this network.) The cartoon network has currently been banished to the family room (basement) television. Soon, however, it is going to be limited viewing. I swear they are hypnotized by it. Jack doesn't even squirm. Much. Rhiannon has already been cut off due to the fact that she is about 3 weeks behind in her homework. Considering 2nd graders only get about 20 minutes worth of homework a day, that is a pretty abysmal record. That girl can putz like no one else I know.

I think I am really going to like our new neighborhood. Last night, after the Simon Delivers guy had delivered our groceries (gotta love that!!!), a neighborhood boy about 12ish came to my door. "May I shovel your driveway? John started to decline, as we really didn't want to pay for something that John and Jack could do in about 20 minutes, but the boy insisted he wanted no money for it. "Okay, go for it, kid." I gave him a Snicker's Egg (a delectable confection), which was all he would take as payment, and he went to work. After he finished, he again knocked on the door and said he forgot to tell me that he wanted to shovel our driveway to show his love of the Lord. Hey, you go, boy! (Wonder if the love of the Lord extends to mowing my lawn . . . ) Actually, I shouldn't pick on the boy. He was very sincere and very nice. I also figure his mom had sent him to see what kind of freaks had moved in five doors down.

It's now 4:15 in the afternoon, and, contrary to the weather people's guesses, it is STILL snowing. And not flurries either. As a coworker of mine described it, "snow as big as cowpies". (How very North Dakota of her.) Now THAT isn't something you see everyday. (That's a really ugly mental picture, now isn't it?.) And, in this mess, thanks to a mom at daycare who let her little darling come to school with strep for a week, I need to have my kids tested. Assuming I can get to the doctor's office in this crap by 5:30. Sigh. And miles to go before I sleep . . .

(ed - the tests came out negative, we've just got kids who have coughs that make seal barks seem tame by comparison... -- jd).

Wednesday, April 3, 2002

Well, at least it stopped snowing. And the kids don't have strep.

World news-wise, things are not so good. The Israelis and Palestinians obviously need to be given time outs in separate corners of the world. While I sympathize with both sides, it does seem to me the Palestinians keep getting the short end of the stick, so to speak. An extremist group sends a suicide bomber who kills 3 or 4 Israelis and the Israelis army shells 2 or 3 Palestinian villages. So the extremists send more bombers. The Israelis move troops into the West Bank. The fringe recruits more bombers. Israeli troops surround Yassir Arafat. There is an obvious cycle going on here that the extremists on both sides refuse to see. I hope to God cooler heads prevail before the rest of the Arab states decide to weigh in with their militaries. (Not that the Israelis won't kick their collective butts, the Israelis military is second to none when it comes to that sort of thing. But thousands of people will die needlessly, most of whom have no part in the actions of the violent fringe.)

Speaking of vicious cycles, I have one going at home as well. You see, my husband snores. LOUDLY. At least, when he is on his back. So I have learned over the years that when he is snoring too loudly, I just nudge him, gently, over onto his back and it stops.At least long enough for me to get to sleep. (Honestly, it is gently. The time his face was mashed into the drywall with some force was NOT due to snoring. THAT was a whole different issue and HE knows why that occurred.)

This approach has served me well, lo these last 12 years. Until the past week. My beloved has taken to imitating an ore freighter lost in a Great Lakes fog while asleep. When nudged, instead of gently rolling onto his side, he snores louder. Enough to rattle the windows. I swear. He snores, I nudge. He snores louder, I nudge harder. Finally, after many attempts, I get him to roll over and stop snoring so I can sleep. (And dream of beached sea lions for some reason . . .) He claims his fight to stay on his back has to do with an overfilled waterbed. All I know is I'm not sleeping and I'm starting to feel like a Green Peace volunteer.

(ed - I could point out that none of my parts "sing" but it's probably imprudent, with her contemplating getting away with several classes of felonies... -- jd).

Thursday, April 4, 2002

We were pondering in the office today, if it is the combination of tights and capes that gives superheroes the ability to fly. Superman, Mighty Mouse, and Underdog all wear tights and capes and fly. Wonder Woman doesn't, and thus, doesn't fly without her invisible plane. And Aquaman only swims. He doesn't have a cape either.

Batman causes a problem with this theory. Maybe the hood he wears interferes with his aerodynamics. "Course, Robin doesn't have a hood and he doesn't fly either. But then, maybe it is because his mentor doesn't and he just hasn't been fully trained in yet. Thus his eternal side-kick status.

Or maybe Batman and Robin don't buy their underwear tight enough. I mean, these other guys practically wear Speedos and tights. And yet they have to keep their voices low to frighten the bad guys. (I mean, who's afraid of a squeaky voiced superhero?) So the strain has to come out somewhere. That must be it. All the blood pooling from the tights and the Speedos causes them to rise into the air, and, over time, they have learned to perfect it and control it so they can fly where ever they want. It also explains why Superman doesn't fly when he is Clark Kent. Clark wears suits, not Speedos. (Don't try this at home guys, it's for professionals.) And you'll notice, in the movies, Batman is the only one with a sex life, so obviously he refuses to wear his underwear tight enough to fly, he has other uses for those parts. Superman is always fending the women off.

As for Wonder Woman, well, woman have more sense than to wear underwear tight enough to cut off circulation. Woman are more likely to just forgo it all together in the name of panty lines. I mean, have you ever seen panty lines on Wonder Woman? I just spoiled Super Friends for you, now didn't I?

(ed - I don't know about you, but I never, ever thought about what type of underwear Wonder Woman wore. Heck, I figured the costume she had WAS underwear... -- jd).

Now a quick word in defense of my reputation. I do NOT stay awake at night plotting homicides as my husband's post of yesterday would lead one to believe. I simply advised him when he made an off the cuff comment regarding hiring someone to off someone else that one should NEVER hire someone to kill someone. Conspiracy charges and premeditation then immediately come to play when you go to trail. Besides, expecting someone to keep that kind of secret is a bit of a stretch unless you have something REALLY juicy on them. I was pre-law for chrissake, you think about things when you study the law. And besides, it's just a little mind game you play when you see someone get caught for a crime. Now who among you hasn't gone "You idiot" when the news reports someone getting caught for a crime because they did something really stupid, like leave their wallet behind. It's human nature to say, "Gee, I'm not THAT dumb." That's all it really is. No need to be afraid of me. See, I don't kill people, I only give advice to people who are contemplating killing people.

Friday, April 5, 2002

And men claim women are illogical? When it comes to lumber and hardware, MEN are the illogical ones. A friend of ours send me to the store to pick up a set of Allen Wrenches. Okay, fairly simple thing, I thought. That is before I fully understood the complete and total illogic of hardware. You see, what men call the tools and what they actually are labeled are 2 very different things. I searched high and low for the Allen Wrench set. Finally, thoroughly demoralized and feeling like an idiot, I had to ask for help. (Another thing women are willing to do that men won't.)

The young lady I asked said she knew they carried them, but like me, for the life of her couldn't find a package of anything even resembling a wrench labeled "Allen Wrench". Finally a young male associate wandered into the aisle and she consulted him. "Oh, right here," he says, picking up a $5 package of what looked to me like a set of turkey staples (you know, the little metal pieces you use to close a stuffed turkey for cooking) not any sort of wrench I had ever seen. The kicker was that they weren't even labeled "Allen Wrench" but "Hex Wrenches". And I am supposed to know this HOW?! Apparently this knowledge comes inate on the Y chromosome and is not shared with those of us who only carry the X.

Then today, my husband informs me that in his detailed loft plans for Rhiannon he failed to account for the fact that his 2X10s are, in fact only 1 3/4 X 9 1/2. Huh? Did we get shorted? No, he explained, 2X10s are not actually 2X10. In fact, all the lumber measurements are rounded up. How terribly inaccurate. If I was that inaccurate while baking, all my cakes would fall and my cookies would taste like salt or something equally unappetizing. Sheese!

Clip art courtesy of Microsoft & Jodi of the singing boobs. Everyone has a reboot button. Stop shaking your head and allow me explain. (You have to stop the laughing to read this, ya' know. Okay, now that I have your attention again.) Everyone has a reboot button, some thing that causes your brain to start up again after it has shut down. Like when you walk into a room and can't remember why you went in there. For some people the mere act of returning from whence they came will trigger the reason for the aborted trip. For me, I have to go and sit down. Therefore, my reboot button is on my butt. Generally the act of sitting down and getting comfortable will trigger my memory. Now John's reboot button is on his head. In fact, he is probably rebooting right now, while reading this, by smacking his forehead. He has a rather large reboot button, as he can also be rebooted by another smacking him upside the head.

(ed - actually, just shaking my head. It's not me that's weird, it's my ~~wife~~ life... -- jd.)

Saturday, April 6, 2002

Sunday, April 7, 2002

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